Introduction—Return from England—Visit to Bousbecque—Posting to Vienna—Interview with Ferdinand—Malvezzi’s misfortunes—Preparations for the expedition—Impatience of Ferdinand—Komorn—Paul Palyna—His ideas of punctuality—Meeting the Turkish escort—Gran—A Sanjak-bey—Feats of Turkish horsemen—A Tartar whose hair served as hat and helmet—Buda—The Pasha of Buda—His sickness and its cause—William Quacquelben called in—Busbecq’s fears—Janissaries—Their duties as policemen—Their dress—Their visits to Busbecq—Turkish guests and hard drinkers—Determined on making a night of it—Why Turks never drink in moderation—The old gentleman at Constantinople who gave notice to his soul—Description of Buda-Pesth—Turkish ideas with regard to houses—The fish in the boiling spring—Interview with the Pasha of Buda—A dilemma—Turkish customs—Busbecq embarks on the Danube for Belgrade—Heydons—Turkish sailors—Belgrade—Roman coins—Defence and capture of Belgrade—Louis of Hungary—Importance of fortresses against Turkish inroads—Trajan’s bridge—A Servian funeral—Servian marriage customs—Description of a Turkish Khan—A Turkish hostel—Sleeping in a stable—How Busbecq made himself comfortable—How the party obtained supplies of wine—Turkish methods for measuring time—Busbecq’s escort acknowledge the advantages of a watch—Sophia—The Bulgarians—Dress and bonnets of the women—Baldwin, Count of Flanders—Trajan’s pass—Philippopolis—Adrianople—Turks fond of flowers—An open purse necessary in Turkey—Tchourlou—Selim’s defeat—Selimbria—Reverence of the Turks for paper—Reasons assigned by themselves for this superstition—The red-hot gridiron and the cock—Busbecq arrives at Constantinople—Visits Roostem—The story of Roostem’s fall from power—Solyman—Roxolana—Mustapha—Roostem once a pig-driver—His services as a financier—Makes a profit out of the vegetables and flowers from the Sultan’s gardens—Why a Sultan is obliged to murder his brothers—Mustapha summoned to his father’s camp—The death sentence—The case submitted to the Mufti—The mutes—A look from Solyman—Mustapha strangled—Mutiny in the camp—Roostem dismissed—Mustapha’s wife and son—Visit from Ibrahim Pasha—Trick played on the mother—Murder of the boy—Constantinople—St. Sophia—Superstitions as to unclean fish—The Greek and the snails—The cost of absolution in the Greek Church—Ancient columns—Ingenuity of a Greek architect—Wild beasts—A dancing elephant76—A camelopard—Sailing up the Bosphorus—Thoughts suggested by the beauty of the scene—Lazarus the Albanian—Busbecq summoned by Solyman to Amasia—Crosses into Asia—Nicomedia—Jackals—NicÆa—Angora goats—Fat-tailed sheep—The duck and the post-horn—Angora—Turkish tombs—The hyena—Its knowledge of language—How to catch it—Coins and plants—Town of Angora—Monumentum Ancyranum—Manufacture of mohair—Fishing in the Halys—Ignorance of the people—Sour milk—Turkish diet—Sherbet—Grapes preserved in mustard—Dervishes—Legend of Chederle the same as that of St. George—Amasia—Turkish incendiaries—Houses of Amasia—Visit to Achmet Pasha—Interview with Solyman—The Sultan’s court—Promotion among the Turks—A body of Janissaries—Their steadiness in the ranks—The Persian Ambassador and his presents—Ali Pasha—Dinner given to the Persian Ambassador and his suite—Audience with Solyman on leaving—Why the Sultan uses rouge—Departure from Amasia—Busbecq ill—Returns to Constantinople—Schiites and Sunnites—Busbecq leaves Constantinople—Meets a train of Hungarian captives—One of the party dies from the plague—Others are attacked—Providential discovery of a remedy—Belgrade—Fertility of Hungary—Essek—Busbecq down with the fever—Mohacz—Plots of the brigands—Busbecq nearly caught—Interview with the Pasha of Buda—Departure for Komorn—How one of Busbecq’s escort lost his nose and his horse—The Sanjak-bey improves the occasion—The value of a nose—The amount of compensation affected by the doctrine of predestination—Return to Vienna—Busbecq looks so ill that his friends think he is poisoned—Is regarded with envy—Apologises for his want of style.

I undertook, when we parted, to give you a full account of my journey to Constantinople, and this promise I now hope to discharge with interest; for I will give you also an account of an expedition88 to Amasia, which is by far the rarer treat of the two.

To an old friend like yourself89 I shall write very freely, and I am sure you will enjoy some pleasant passages which befell me on my way; and as to the disagreeables which are inseparable from a journey so long and so difficult, do not give them a thought, for I assure you that, though they annoyed me at the time, that very annoyance, now they are past and gone, only adds to my pleasure in recalling them.

You will remember that, after my return home from England, where I attended the marriage of King Philip and Queen Mary,90 in the train of Don Pedro Lasso, whom my most gracious master, Ferdinand, King of the Romans, had deputed to represent him at the wedding, I received from the last-mentioned Sovereign a summons to undertake this journey.

The message reached me at Lille91 on November 3, and without any delay, except such as was entailed by a detour to Bousbecque for the purpose of bidding adieu to my father and my friends, I hurried through Tournai, and thence to Brussels.

Here I met Don Pedro himself; and he, to use an old proverb, gave the spur to a right willing horse, by showing me a letter he had received from the King, in which he charged him to make me set out as soon as possible. Accordingly, I took post-horses, and came with all speed to Vienna. Even at this early stage my journey brought troubles of its own, for I was quite unaccustomed to riding, and the time of year was by no means favourable to such an expedition, involving as it did bad weather, muddy roads, and short days. I had, therefore, to pursue my journey long after nightfall, and to gallop over a track, which hardly deserved the name of a road, in complete darkness, to the great danger of my neck.

On my arrival at Vienna I was presented to King Ferdinand by John Van der Aa, a member of his privy council. He received me with the kindness which invariably marks his intercourse with those of whose loyalty and honesty he has formed a favourable opinion. He told me at great length his hopes with regard to me, and how important it was to his interests that I should accept the office of ambassador, and start forthwith. He informed me he had promised the Pasha of Buda that his ambassador should be there without fail by the beginning of December, and he was anxious there should be no want of punctuality on the part of his representative, lest it should furnish the Turks with a pretext for not fulfilling the engagements which they had undertaken in consideration of this promise.

We were within twelve days of the date. There was barely time to make preparations for a short journey, and I had a long one before me.

Even from this short space I had to deduct some days for a hurried visit to John Maria Malvezzi at Komorn, whither I went by the commands of the King, who considered it of great importance that I should have an interview with Malvezzi, and receive from his own lips such information and advice as he might be able to give me with regard to the character and disposition of the Turks, inasmuch as I myself had no knowledge or experience of them.

He had been for some years Ferdinand’s ambassador at the court of Solyman, to which post he was first appointed when the Emperor Charles, for divers weighty reasons, negotiated a truce with the Turks through Gerard Veltwick;92 for on that occasion he had also made a truce with them for eight years on behalf of King Ferdinand.

Now Malvezzi had been one of Veltwick’s companions, and on his return he was sent back to Constantinople by Ferdinand to act as his ambassador, in the hope that his presence at the Sultan’s court would be of service in checking the raids of the Turks in the kingdom of Hungary, as there would be some one on the spot to remonstrate with Solyman with regard to the outrages committed by his officers, and demand satisfaction.

But it happened not long after, that an opportunity, which Ferdinand felt he could not afford to lose, occurred for re-uniting Transylvania to Hungary.93 In this he was warmly supported by the Hungarians, who looked on Transylvania as an appanage of the kingdom. Accordingly, he came to an understanding with the widow and son of John the Voivode, who had formerly usurped the title of King of Hungary, and recovered Transylvania in exchange for other provinces.

When the Turks got wind of these transactions—and, indeed, they could not have been kept secret—Roostem, the son-in-law of Solyman and chief of the councillors who are called Vizierial Pashas, summoned Malvezzi to his presence, and asked him whether the news was true. He, without the slightest hesitation, contradicted the report, and offered, moreover, to stake his life on the result, and to submit to their worst tortures if his statement proved incorrect. But when, on Ferdinand’s taking possession of the whole of Transylvania, the truth became clear, and further concealment was impossible, the Sultan was furious with Roostem for having placed so much confidence in Malvezzi’s assurances, and Roostem was still more enraged with Malvezzi, and often declared that he had cheated him. Not to make too long a story, Malvezzi was thrown into prison, his goods confiscated, and his servants sold as slaves. In this prison he was kept in close custody for nearly two years. Sickness attacked him, and as he was not allowed to receive any medicines, he contracted a disease which, some time after, terminated his life. The Turks, in such matters, have no idea of moderation; they are excessively complaisant when they wish to show their friendship, and excessively bitter when their anger is roused. But when their troubles at home made them desirous of peace, and their attempt to recover Transylvania by force of arms was unsuccessful, they were easily induced to leave off fighting and to arrange the dispute by negotiation. The Turkish demand was that the whole of Transylvania should be restored; but inasmuch as his treaty with the Voivode was the result neither of force nor fraud, Ferdinand94 maintained that it ought not to be set aside, and declined to evacuate Transylvania. With a view to satisfying the Turks on these matters, he despatched to the Sultan’s Court two ambassadors, in whose loyalty and zeal he had the greatest confidence—Antony Wranczy (or Verantius), Bishop of Erlau, and Francis Zay, the commander of the ships which the Hungarians call Nassades. On their arrival Malvezzi was released from his dungeon, and sent back to Ferdinand with despatches from Solyman. Shortly after this, the King desired him to return to Constantinople to act as his ambassador in ordinary when peace should have been concluded. Accordingly he set out, but a fresh attack of the disease he had contracted during his confinement compelled him to stop at Komorn, a fortress which lies at the point where the river Waag joins the Danube, and is our furthest outpost against the Turk.

He felt that his end was drawing near, and wrote to Ferdinand, asking him to appoint some one to take his place as ambassador. The King did not altogether believe what Malvezzi said, nor, on the other hand, was he disposed to think it quite without foundation. However, he was rather inclined to suspect that his reason for avoiding the office of ambassador was not so much the severity of his attack, as the recollection of what he had suffered before, and the dread of what might be in store for him in the future; at the same time, he felt that he could not in decency compel a man who had done good service to King and country to proceed on an errand for which he declared himself unfit. The death of Malvezzi a few months afterwards gave ample proof that his illness was neither an excuse nor a sham. The result of all this was that I became Malvezzi’s successor; but inasmuch as I had no experience in the tactics and character of the Turk, the King, as I told you before, thought that a visit to Malvezzi would be useful, since he could give me directions and suggestions as to the best method of dealing with Turkish chicanery. Accordingly, I spent two days with Malvezzi, and learnt as much as I could in so short a time of the policy to be followed and the things to be avoided in one’s daily transactions with the Turk Thence I returned to Vienna, and set to work, as hard as I could, to get together what I wanted for my journey. But there was so much business to be done, and the time was so short, that when the day came on which I had arranged to leave, I was not ready. The King kept pressing me to go, and I had been busy arranging and packing since three o’clock that morning; but it was with great difficulty that I managed to complete my preparations shortly after dusk. The gates of Vienna, which at that hour are locked, were unbolted, and I set out.

The King had gone hunting that day; and when he left he told me he felt quite sure that before he returned in the evening I should be on my road. And so I was; but there was very little difference between the time of his return and of my departure.

At eleven, p.m., we reached Fiscagmund, a borough town of Hungary, four miles95 from Vienna, where we stopped for supper, for in our haste we had left Vienna supperless, and then pursued our way towards Komorn. One of the king’s instructions was that I should get hold of one Paul Palyna at Komorn, who had great knowledge of the raids and robberies of the Turks, and take him with me to Buda; since, if he were at hand to prompt me, I should find it a great advantage when remonstrating with the Pasha concerning the outrages, and demanding satisfaction for the same. But that I should start punctually appeared to Palyna the most unlikely thing in the world, and accordingly, when I arrived at Komorn, he had not yet left his home, and not a soul could give me any information as to when he was likely to arrive. I was intensely annoyed. I despatched a report of the matter to Ferdinand, and devoted the next day to waiting for this precious companion of mine at Komorn. All in vain; so on the third day I crossed the river Waag, and pursued my way towards Gran, the first fortress within the Turkish boundary line.

The officer in command at Komorn, John Pax, had given me an escort of sixteen hussars, as the Hungarians call these horsemen, with orders not to leave me until we came in sight of the Turkish outposts. The Turkish officer in command at Gran had given me to understand that his men would meet me midway between that town and Komorn. For three hours, more or less, we had advanced through a flat and open country, when four Turkish horsemen appeared in the distance; my Hungarians, however, continued to ride with me, until at last I advised them to retire, fearing that, if they came nearer, some troublesome breach of the peace might ensue. When the Turks saw me coming, they rode up, and, halting by my carriage, saluted me. In this manner we advanced a short distance, conversing with each other, for I had a lad who acted as interpreter.

I was not expecting any addition to my escort, when suddenly, as we came to a spot a little below the level of the rest of the country, I found myself surrounded by a troop of 150 horsemen, or thereabouts. I had never seen such a sight before, and I was delighted with the gay colours of their shields and spears, their jewelled scimitars, their many-coloured plumes, their turbans of the purest white, their robes of purple and dark green, their gallant steeds and superb accoutrements.

The officers ride up, give me a courteous welcome, congratulate me on my arrival, and ask whether I have had a pleasant journey. I reply in terms befitting the occasion, and so they escort me to Gran, which consists of a fort situated on a hill, at the foot of which flows the Danube, and a town hard by on the plain, where I take up my quarters. The archbishop of this place stands first among the nobles of Hungary both in rank and wealth. My lodging had more of the camp than the city. Instead of beds there were planks covered with coarse woollen rugs; there were no mattresses, no linen. And so my attendants had their first taste of Turkish luxury! As for myself, I had brought my bed with me.

Next day the Sanjak-bey in command of the place repeatedly urged me to visit him. This is the title which the Turks give to an officer in command; and the name comes from the sanjak,96 or standard, which is carried in front of his squadron of cavalry; it consists of a lance, on the top of which is a brass ball plated over with gold. I had no despatches or commission for this officer, but he was so persistent that I had to go. It turned out that all he wanted was to see me, to go through some civilities, ask my errand, urge me to promote a peace, and wish me a prosperous journey. On my way to his quarters I was surprised to hear the frogs croaking, although it was December and the weather was cold. The phenomenon was explained by the existence of some pools formed by hot sulphur springs.

I left Gran after a breakfast, which had to serve for a dinner as well, as there was no resting-place between it and Buda.

In spite of my entreaties that he would spare himself the trouble of paying me so great an attention, the Sanjak-bey must needs escort me with all his household, and the cavalry under his command. As the horsemen poured out of the gates they engaged in mimic warfare, and also performed several feats, one of which was to throw a ball on the ground, and to carry it off on the lance’s point when at full gallop. Among the troopers was a Tartar with long thick hair, and I was told that he never wore any other covering on his head than that which nature afforded, either to protect him against weather in a storm, or arrows in a battle. When the Sanjak-bey considered that he had gone far enough, we exchanged greetings, and he returned home, leaving an escort to conduct me to Buda.

As I drew near to the city I was met by a few Turks, who were by profession cavasses. These cavasses act as officials, and execute the orders of the Sultan and Pashas. The position of cavasse is considered by the Turks to be one of high honour.

I was conducted to the house of a Hungarian gentleman, where, I declare, my luggage, carriage, and horses were better treated than their owner. The first thing the Turks attend to is to get carriages, horses, and luggage into safe quarters; as for human beings they think they have done quite enough for them, if they are placed beyond the reach of wind and weather.

The Pasha, whose name was Touighoun (which, by the way, signifies a stork in Turkish), sent a person to wait on me and pay me his respects, and asked me to excuse him from giving me audience for several days, on account of a severe illness from which he was suffering, and assured me that he would attend to me as soon as his health permitted.

This circumstance prevented my business from suffering at all by Palyna’s delay, and enabled him also to escape the charge of wilful negligence. For he used all diligence to reach me in time, and shortly afterwards made his appearance.

The illness of the Pasha detained me at Buda for a considerable time. The popular belief was that he had fallen sick from chagrin on receiving the news that a large hoard of his, which he had buried in some corner, had been stolen. He was generally supposed to be an arrant miser. Well, when he heard that I had with me William Quacquelben, a man of great learning and a most skilful physician, he earnestly desired me to send him to prescribe for his case. I made no objection to this proposal, but my consent was like to have cost me dear; for when the Pasha gradually got worse, and a fatal termination to his illness seemed probable, I was in great alarm lest, if he joined his Mahomet in Paradise, the Turks should accuse my physician of murdering him, to the danger of my excellent friend, and my own great disgrace as an accomplice. But, by God’s mercy, the Pasha recovered, and my anxiety was set at rest.

At Buda I made my first acquaintance with the Janissaries; this is the name by which the Turks call the infantry of the royal guard. The Turkish state has 12,000 of these troops when the corps is at its full strength. They are scattered through every part of the empire, either to garrison the forts against the enemy, or to protect the Christians and Jews from the violence of the mob. There is no district with any considerable amount of population, no borough or city, which has not a detachment of Janissaries to protect the Christians, Jews, and other helpless people from outrage and wrong.

A garrison of Janissaries is always stationed in the citadel of Buda. The dress of these men consists of a robe reaching down to the ankles, while, to cover their heads, they employ a cowl which, by their account, was originally a cloak sleeve,97 part of which contains the head, while the remainder hangs down and flaps against the neck. On their forehead is placed a silver-gilt cone of considerable height, studded with stones of no great value.

These Janissaries generally came to me in pairs. When they were admitted to my dining room they first made a bow, and then came quickly up to me, all but running, and touched my dress or hand, as if they intended to kiss it. After this they would thrust into my hand a nosegay of the hyacinth or narcissus; then they would run back to the door almost as quickly as they came, taking care not to turn their backs, for this, according to their code, would be a serious breach of etiquette. After reaching the door, they would stand respectfully with their arms crossed, and their eyes bent on the ground, looking more like monks than warriors. On receiving a few small coins (which was what they wanted) they bowed again, thanked me in loud tones, and went off blessing me for my kindness. To tell you the truth, if I had not been told beforehand that they were Janissaries, I should, without hesitation, have taken them for members of some order of Turkish monks, or brethren of some Moslem college. Yet these are the famous Janissaries, whose approach inspires terror everywhere.

During my stay at Buda a good many Turks were drawn to my table by the attractions of my wine, a luxury in which they have not many opportunities of indulging. The effect of this enforced abstinence is to make them so eager for drink, that they swill themselves with it whenever they get the chance. I asked them to make a night of it, but at last I got tired of the game, left the table, and retired to my bedroom. On this my Turkish guests made a move to go, and great was their grief as they reflected that they were not yet dead drunk, and could still use their legs. Presently they sent a servant to request that I would allow them access to my stock of wine and lend them some silver cups. ‘With my permission,’ they said, ‘they would like to continue their drinking bout through the night; they were not particular where they sat; any odd corner would do for them.’ Well, I ordered them to be furnished with as much wine as they could drink, and also with the cups they asked for. Being thus supplied, the fellows never left off drinking until they were one and all stretched on the floor in the last stage of intoxication.

To drink wine is considered a great sin among the Turks, especially in the case of persons advanced in life: when younger people indulge in it the offence is considered more venial. Inasmuch, however, as they think that they will have to pay the same penalty after death whether they drink much or little, if they taste one drop of wine they must needs indulge in a regular debauch; their notion being that, inasmuch as they have already incurred the penalty, appointed for such sin, in another world, it will be an advantage to them to have their sin out, and get dead drunk, since it will cost them as much in either case. These are their ideas about drinking, and they have some other notions which are still more ridiculous. I saw an old gentleman at Constantinople who, before taking up his cup, shouted as loud as he could. I asked my friends the reason, and they told me he was shouting to warn his soul to stow itself away in some odd corner of his body, or to leave it altogether, lest it should be defiled by the wine he was about to drink, and have hereafter to answer for the offence which the worthy man meant to indulge in.

I shall not have time to give you a full description of the good town of Buda, but that I may not pass it over altogether, I will give you a sketch of such sort as is suitable for a letter, though it would not be sufficient for a book. The town is built on the side of a hill, in a most delightful situation, the country around being rich and fertile. On the one side it is bordered by vine-clad hills, and on the other it commands a view of the Danube, as it flows past its walls, with Pesth beyond, and the broad fields on the other side of the river. Well might this town be selected as the royal capital of Hungary. In past times it was adorned with the magnificent palaces of the Hungarian nobility, some of which have fallen down, while others are only kept from falling by a liberal use of props and stays. The inmates of these mansions are generally Turkish soldiers, who, as their daily pay is all they have to live on, can spare nothing for the purpose of mending the walls or patching the roofs of these vast buildings. Accordingly, they do not take it to heart if the roof lets in rain or the wall cracks, provided they can find a dry spot to stable their horses and make their own bed. As to the chambers above, they think it is no concern of theirs; so they leave the rats and mice in full enjoyment of them. Another reason for this negligence is that it is part of the Turkish creed to avoid display in the matter of buildings; they consider that a man proves himself a conceited fellow, who utterly misunderstands his position, if he aims at having a pretentious house, for he shows thereby, according to their notion, that he expects himself and his house to last for ever. They profess to use houses as travellers use inns, and if their habitations protect them from robbers, give them warmth and shade, and keep off rain, they want nothing more. Through the whole of Turkey it would be hard to find a house, however exalted or rich its owner may be, built with the slightest regard to elegance. Everyone lives in a hut or cottage. The great people are fond of fine gardens and sumptuous baths, and take care to have roomy houses to accommodate their retinues; but in these you never see a bright verandah, or a hall worth looking at, nor does any sign of grandeur attract one’s attention. The Hungarians also follow the same practice, for with the exception of Buda, and perhaps Presburg, you will scarcely find a city in the whole of Hungary containing buildings of any pretension whatever. For my own part, I believe that this is a very old habit of theirs, and arises from the circumstance that the Hungarians are a warlike nation, accustomed to camp life and expeditions far from home, and so, when they lived in a city, they did so as men who must shortly leave it.

Whilst at Buda I was much struck with a spring which I saw outside the gate on the road to Constantinople. The surface of the water was boiling hot, but at the bottom you could see fish swimming about, so that, if they were caught, you might expect them to come out ready boiled!

At length, on December 7, the Pasha was ready to receive me. I gave him a present with a view to securing his favour, and then proceeded to complain of the arrogance and misdeeds of the Turkish soldiers. I demanded the restitution of the places which had been taken from us in violation of the truce, and which he had undertaken in his letters to restore to my master on his sending an ambassador. The Pasha replied with complaints as heavy as mine about the losses and injuries he had sustained at the hands of our people. As to restoring the places, he took refuge in the following dilemma:—‘I,’ said he, ‘either did not promise to restore these places, or I did promise to restore them. In the former case, I am not bound to restore them; while in the latter case, a man of your intelligence must comprehend that I made a promise which I have neither the right nor the power to keep; for my master has assigned me the duty of enlarging his dominion, not of diminishing it; and I have no right to impair his estate. Remember it is his interest that is in question, not mine. When you see him you can ask him for whatever you like.’ He concluded by remarking that ‘it was very wrong of me to bother a man still weak from illness with a long discourse about nothing.’

When he had delivered this decision with the air of a judge, I had leave to go. All I gained by my interview was the conclusion of a truce until an answer should be brought back from Solyman.

I observed, when we were presented to the Pasha, that they kept up the custom of the ancient Romans, who put in the word ‘feliciter’ at the end of their speech, and used words of good omen. I noticed also that in most cases the left-hand side was considered the more honourable. The reason they assign for this is that the sword confers honour on that side, for if a man stands on the right, he has in a certain sense his sword under the hand of the man who flanks him on the left; while the latter, of course, would have his sword free and disencumbered.

Our business at Buda being thus concluded, in so far as we were able to accomplish it, my companion returned to the King, while I, with my horses, carriages, and people, embarked on some vessels which were waiting for us, and sailed down the Danube towards Belgrade. This route was not only safer than that by land, but also occupied less time, for encumbered as I was with baggage, I should have been twelve days at the very least on the road, and there would also have been danger of an attack from Heydons—for so the Hungarians call the banditti who have left their flocks and herds to become half soldiers, half brigands. By the river route there was no fear of Heydons, and the passage occupied five days.

The vessel on board which I sailed was towed by a tug manned by twenty-four oarsmen; the other boats were pulled along by a pair of sweeps. With the exception of a few hours during which the wretched galley-slaves and the crew took food and rest, we travelled incessantly. I was much impressed on this occasion with the rashness of the Turks, for they had no hesitation in continuing their voyage during the night, though there was no moon and it was quite dark, amid a gale of wind. We often, to our very great danger, encountered mills and trunks and branches of trees projecting from the banks, so that it frequently happened that the boat was caught by the gale and came crashing on to the stumps and branches which lined the river side. On such occasions it seemed to me that we were on the point of going to pieces. Once, indeed, there was a great crash, and part of the deck was carried away. I jumped out of bed, and begged the crew to be more careful. Their only answer was ‘Alaure,’ that is, ‘God will help us;’ and so I was left to get back to my bed and my nap—if I could! I will venture to make one prophecy, and that is, that this mode of sailing will one day bring about a disaster.

On our voyage I saw Tolna, a Hungarian borough of some importance, which deserves special mention for its excellent white wine and the civility of the people. I saw also Fort Valpovar, which stands on high ground, as well as other castles and towns; nor did I fail to notice the points at which the Drave on the one side, and the Theiss on the other, flow into the Danube. Belgrade itself lies at the confluence of the Save and Danube, and at the apex of the angle where these streams join, the old city is still standing; it is built in an antiquated style, and fortified with numerous towers and a double wall. On two sides it is washed by the rivers I mentioned, while on the third side, which unites it to the land, it has a citadel of considerable strength, placed on an eminence, consisting of several lofty towers built of squared stone.

In front of the city are very large suburbs, built without any regard to order. These are inhabited by people of different nations—Turks, Greeks, Jews, Hungarians, Dalmatians, and many more.

Indeed, throughout the Turkish Empire the suburbs, as a rule, are larger than the towns, and suburbs and town together give the idea of a very considerable place. This was the first point at which I met with ancient coins, of which, as you know, I am very fond, and I find William Quacquelben, whom I mentioned before, a most admirable and devoted fellow-student in this hobby of mine.

We found several coins, on one side of which was a Roman soldier standing between a bull and a horse, with the inscription ‘Taurunum.’ It is a well-ascertained fact that the legions of Upper Moesia were quartered here.

Twice in the days of our grandfathers great efforts were made to take Belgrade, on the first occasion by Amurath, and on the second by Mahomet, the captor of Constantinople. But the efforts of the barbarians were on both occasions baffled by the gallant defence of the Hungarians and the champions of the Cross.

It was not till the year 1520 that Belgrade was taken. Solyman, who had just ascended the throne, advanced against the city with powerful forces. He found it in a weak state, the garrison not having been kept at its proper strength, owing to the neglect of the young King Louis and the feuds of the Hungarian nobles; consequently he made himself master of the city without much loss. We can now see clearly that Belgrade was the door of Hungary, and that it was not till this gate was forced that the tide of Turkish barbarism burst into this unhappy country. The loss of Belgrade entailed the death of Louis98 on the battle-field, the capture of Buda, the enthralment of Transylvania, and the utter prostration of a flourishing realm, amid the alarm of neighbouring kingdoms lest their turn should come next. The loss of Belgrade ought to be a warning to the Princes of Christendom that they, as they love their safety, should take the utmost possible care of their forts and strongholds. For the Turks resemble in this point great rivers swollen by the rains; if they can burst their banks in any single place, they pour through the breach and carry destruction far and wide. In yet more fearful fashion do the Turkish hordes, when once they have burst the barriers in their path, carry far and wide their unparalleled devastations.

But we must now return to Belgrade, with full purpose to make our way straight to Constantinople. Having procured in the city what we thought needful for our journey by road, leaving Semendria, formerly a stronghold of the Despots99 of Servia, on our left, we commenced our journey towards Nissa. When we came to high ground the Turks showed us the snow-capped mountains of Transylvania in the distance, and they also pointed out by means of signs the place near which some of the piles of Trajan’s bridge may still be seen.100

After crossing a river, called Morava by the natives, we took up our lodgings in a village named Jagodin, where we had an opportunity of seeing the funeral ceremonies of the country, which are very different from ours. The body was laid in a chapel, with its face uncovered, and by it was placed food in the shape of bread and meat and a cup of wine; the wife stood by the side, and also the daughter, dressed in their best clothes; the latter wore a head-dress of peacock’s feathers. The last present which the wife made to her husband, after he had been waked, was a purple cap of the kind that young ladies wear in that country.

Then we heard wailing and crying and complaining, as they asked the dead man ‘What they had done that he should desert them? Had they in any way failed in showing submission to him or in ministering to his comfort? Why did he leave them to loneliness and misery?’ &c. &c. The religious ceremonies were conducted by priests of the Greek Church. I noticed in the burial-ground a great many wooden figures of stags, fawns, &c., placed on the top of posts or poles. On inquiring the reason, I was informed that the husbands or fathers placed these monuments as memorials of the readiness and care with which the wives and daughters had discharged their domestic duties. On many of the tombs were hanging tresses of hair, which the women and girls had placed there to show their grief for the loss of relations. We heard also that it was the custom in these parts, when the elders had arranged a marriage between a young man and a young woman, for the bridegroom to seize his wife by force and carry her off. According to their ideas, it would be highly indelicate for the girl to be a consenting party to the arrangement.

Not far from Jagodin we came to a little stream, which the inhabitants call Nissus. This we kept on our right, skirting its bank until we came to Nissa (Nisch). Some way on, we found on the bank (where the traces of an old Roman road still remained) a little marble pillar with a Latin inscription, but so mutilated as to be undecipherable. Nissa is a small town of some account, to which the people of the country often resort.

I must now tell you something as to the inns we make use of, for that is a subject on which you have been some time wanting information. At Nissa I lodged in the public inn, called by the Turks a caravanserai—the most common kind of inn in those parts. It consists of a huge building, the length of which somewhat exceeds the breadth. In the centre is an open space, where the camels and their baggage, as well as the mules and waggons, have to be quartered.

This open space is surrounded by a wall about three feet high, and this is bonded into the outer wall surrounding the whole building. The top of the former is level, and about four feet broad. This ledge serves the Turks for bedroom and dining-room, and kitchen as well, for here and there fireplaces are built into the outer wall, which I told you encloses the whole building. So they sleep, eat, and cook on this ledge, three feet high and four feet broad; and this is the only distinction between their quarters and those of the camels, horses, and other beasts of burden.

Moreover, they have their horses haltered at the foot of the ledge, so that their heads and necks come right over it; and as their masters warm themselves or take their supper, the creatures stand by like so many lackeys, and sometimes are given a crust or apple from their master’s hand. On the ledge they also make their beds; first they spread out the rug which they carry for that purpose behind their saddles, on this they put a cloak, while the saddle supplies them with a pillow. A robe, lined with skins, and reaching to the ankles furnishes their dress by day and their blanket at night. And so when they lie down they have no luxuries wherewith to provoke sleep to come to them.

In these inns there is no privacy whatever; everything is done in public, and the only curtain to shield one from people’s eyes is such as may be afforded by the darkness of the night.

I was excessively disgusted with these inns, for all the Turks were staring at us, and wondering at our ways and customs, so I always did my best to get a lodging with some poor Christian; but their huts are so narrow that oftentimes there was not room enough for a bed, and so I had to sleep sometimes in a tent and sometimes in my carriage. On certain occasions I got lodged in a Turkish hostel. These hostels are fine convenient buildings, with separate bedrooms, and no one is refused admittance, whether he be Christian or Jew, whether he be rich or a beggar. The doors are open to all alike. They are made use of by the pashas and sanjak-beys when they travel. The hospitality which I met with in these places appeared to me worthy of a royal palace. It is the custom to furnish food to each individual who lodges there, and so, when supper-time came, an attendant made his appearance with a huge wooden platter as big as a table, in the middle of which was a dish of barley porridge and a bit of meat. Around the dish were loaves, and sometimes a little honey in the comb.

At first I had some delicacy in accepting it, and told the man that my own supper was being got ready, and that he had better give what he had brought to people who were really in want. The attendant, however, would take no denial, expressed a hope ‘that I would not despise their slender fare,’ told me ‘that even pashas received this dole, it was the custom of the place, and there was plenty more for supplying the wants of the poor. If I did not care for it myself I might leave it for my servants.’ He thus obliged me to accept it, lest I should seem ungracious. So I used to thank whoever brought it, and sometimes took a mouthful or two. It was not at all bad. I can assure you that barley porridge is a very palatable food, and it is, moreover, recommended by Galen101 as extremely wholesome.

Travellers are allowed to enjoy this hospitality for three full days; when these have expired, they must change their hostel. In these places I found, as I have already told you, most convenient lodgings, but they were not to be met with everywhere.

Sometimes, if I could not get a house to lodge in, I spent the night in a cattle shed. I used to look out for a large and roomy stable; in one part of it there would be a regular fire-place, while the other part was assigned to the sheep and oxen. It is the fashion, you must know, for the sheep and the shepherd to live under the same roof.

My plan was to screen off the part where the fire was with my tent hangings, put my table and bed by the fire side, and there I was as happy as a king. In the other part of the stable my servants took their ease in plenty of good clean straw, while some fell asleep by the bonfire which they were wont to make in an orchard or meadow hard by, for the purpose of cooking our food. By means of the fire they were able to withstand the cold; and, as to keeping it burning, no vestal virgin at Rome was ever more careful than they. I dare say you will wonder how I managed to console my people for their bad lodgings. You will surmise that wine, the usual remedy for bad nights, is not easily found in the heart of Turkey. This is quite true. It is not in every district that you can get wine, and this is especially the case in places where Christians do not live. For ofttimes, getting wearied of Turkish insolence, they leave the neighbourhood of the high road, and take refuge in pathless wilds, where the land is poorer, and they themselves are safer, leaving their conquerors in possession of the more fertile spots. When we drew near to such places, the Turks warned us that we should find no wine there, and we then despatched a caterer the day before under the escort of a Turk, to obtain a supply from the neighbouring Christian districts. So my people did not lack this solace of their hardships. To them wine supplied the place of feather beds and bolsters, and every other comfort that induces sleep. As for myself, I had in my carriage some flasks of excellent wine, which supplied my own private table.

I have now told you how I and my people provided ourselves with wine; but we had one hardship almost worse than want of wine, and this was the dreadful way in which our nights were broken. Sometimes, in order to reach a good halting-place betimes, it was necessary to rise very early, while it was still dark. On these occasions it not unfrequently happened that our Turkish guides mistook the moonlight for the approach of dawn, and proceeded to wake us soon after midnight in a most noisy fashion. For the Turks, you must know, have neither hours to mark their time, nor milestones to mark their roads.

They have professional people, called talismans, set apart for the service of their mosques, who use a water-glass; and when these talismans know that morning is at hand, they utter a cry from a lofty minaret built for that special purpose, in order to call and invite the people to the performance of their devotions. They utter the same cry when one quarter of the day has elapsed, at midday, again when three quarters of the day are over, and, last of all, at sunset; each time repeating the cry in shrill quavering tones, the effect of which is not unpleasing, and the sound can be heard at a distance that would astonish you.

Thus the Turks divide their day into four portions, which are longer or shorter according to the season. They have no method for marking time during the night.

But to return to my subject. Our guides, deceived by the brightness of the moon, were wont to give the signal for striking camp when the day was yet far distant. Up we jumped in haste, for fear of causing any delay, or being blamed for any misadventure that might ensue. Our baggage was got together, the bed and tents thrown into the waggon, our horses harnessed, and we ourselves stood ready and equipped, waiting for the signal to start. Meanwhile, our Turks had found out their mistake, and turned into bed for another sleep.

When we had waited some time for them in vain, I would send a message to tell them that we were quite ready, and that the delay rested with them. My messengers brought back word that ‘the Turks had returned to their bedclothes, and vowed that they had been atrociously deceived by the moon when they gave the signal for starting; it was not yet time to set out, and we had much better all go to sleep again.’ The consequence was that we had either to unpack everything at the cost of considerable labour, or to spend a good part of the night shivering in the cold. To put a stop to this annoyance, I ordered the Turks not to trouble me again, and promised to be responsible for our being up in good time, if they would tell me the day before, when we ought to start, assuring them that ‘I could manage it, as I had watches that could be trusted; they might continue their slumbers,’ I added, ‘relying on me to have the camp roused at the proper time.’

My Turks agreed, but were not quite comfortable about it; so at first they would come early, and wake up my servant, bidding him go to me, and ask what the fingers of my timepieces said. On his return he would tell them, as best he could, what the time was, informing them that it was nearly morning, or that the sun would not rise for some time, as the case might be. When they had once or twice proved the truth of his report, they trusted the watches implicitly, and expressed their admiration at their accuracy. Thenceforward we were allowed to enjoy our night’s rest without having it cut short by their uproar.

On our way from Nissa to Sophia we had fair roads and good weather, considering the season of the year. Sophia is a good-sized town, with a considerable population both of residents and visitors. Formerly it was the royal city of the Bulgarians; afterwards (unless I am mistaken) it was the seat of the Despots of Servia, whilst the dynasty still existed, and had not yet succumbed to the power of the Turk. After quitting Sophia we travelled for several days through fruitful fields and pleasant valleys, belonging to the Bulgarians.

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 Cantacuzeni104 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 Baldwin106 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:—

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.

There was great uneasiness among the soldiers, when Mustapha arrived in the camp. He was brought to his father’s tent, and there everything betokened peace. There was not a soldier on guard, no aide-de-camp, no policeman, nothing that could possibly alarm him and make him suspect treachery. But there were in the tent certain mutes—a favourite kind of servant among the Turks—strong and sturdy fellows, who had been appointed as his executioners. As soon as he entered the inner tent, they threw themselves upon him, and endeavoured to put the fatal noose around his neck. Mustapha, being a man of considerable strength, made a stout defence, and fought—not only for his life, but also for the throne; there being no doubt that if he escaped from his executioners, and threw himself among the Janissaries, the news of this outrage on their beloved prince would cause such pity and indignation, that they would not only protect him, but also proclaim him Sultan. Solyman felt how critical the matter was, being only separated by the linen hangings of his tent from the stage, on which this tragedy was being enacted. When he found that there was an unexpected delay in the execution of his scheme, he thrust out his head from the chamber of his tent, and glared on the mutes with fierce and threatening eyes; at the same time, with signs full of hideous meaning, he sternly rebuked their slackness. Hereon the mutes, gaining fresh strength from the terror he inspired, threw Mustapha down, got the bowstring round his neck, and strangled him. Shortly afterwards they laid his body on a rug in front of the tent, that the Janissaries might see the man they had desired as their Sultan. When this was noised through the camp, the whole army was filled with pity and grief; nor did one of them fail to come and gaze on that sad sight. Foremost of all were the Janissaries, so astounded and indignant that, had there been anyone to lead them, they would have flinched from nothing. But they saw their chosen leader lying lifeless on the ground. The only course left to them was to bear patiently that which could not be cured. So, sadly and silently, with many a tear, they retired to their tents, where they were at liberty to indulge their grief at the unhappy end of their young favourite. First they declared that Solyman was a dotard and a madman. They then expressed their abhorrence of the cruel treachery of the stepmother (Roxolana), and the wickedness of Roostem, who, between them, had extinguished the brightest light of the house of Othman. Thus they passed that day fasting, nor did they even touch water; indeed, there were some of them who remained without food for a still longer time.

For several days there was a general mourning throughout the camp, and there seemed no prospect of any abatement of the soldiers’ sorrow, unless Roostem were removed from office. This step Solyman accordingly took, at the suggestion (as it is generally believed) of Roostem himself. He dismissed him from office, and sent him back to Constantinople in disgrace.

His post was filled by Achmet Pasha, who is more distinguished for courage than for judgment. When Roostem had been chief Vizier he had been second. This change soothed and calmed the spirits of the soldiers. With the credulity natural to the lower orders, they were easily induced to believe that Solyman had discovered Roostem’s machinations and his wife’s sorceries, and was coming to his senses now that it was all too late, and that this was the cause of Roostem’s fall. Indeed, they were persuaded that he would not even spare his wife, when he returned to Constantinople. Moreover, the men themselves met Roostem at Constantinople, apparently overwhelmed with grief and without the slightest hope of recovering his position.

Meanwhile, Roxolana, not contented with removing Mustapha from her path, was compassing the death of the only son he had left, who was still a child; for she did not consider that she and her children were free from danger, so long as his offspring survived. Some pretext, however, she thought necessary, in order to furnish a reason for the murder, but this was not hard to find. Information is brought to Solyman that, whenever his grandson appeared in public, the boys of Ghemlik115—where he was being educated—shouted out, ‘God save the Prince, and may he long survive his father;’ and that the meaning of these cries was to point him out as his grandsire’s future successor, and his father’s avenger. Moreover, he was bidden to remember that the Janissaries would be sure to support the son of Mustapha, so that the father’s death had in no way secured the peace of the throne and realm; that nothing ought to be preferred to the interests of religion, not even the lives of our children; that the whole Mussulman religion (as they call it, meaning ‘the best religion’) depended on the safety of the throne and the rule of the house of Othman; and that, if the family were to fall, the foundations of the faith would be overthrown; that nothing would so surely lead to the downfall of the house as disunion among its members; for the sake, therefore, of the family, the empire, and religion itself, a stop must be put to domestic feuds; no price could be too great for the accomplishment of such an end, even though a father’s hands had to be dipped in his children’s blood; nay, the sacrifice of one’s children’s lives was not to be esteemed of any great account, if the safety of the faith was thereby assured. There was still less reason, they added, for compunction in this case, inasmuch as the boy, as Mustapha’s son, was already a participator in his father’s guilt, and there could be no doubt that he would shortly place himself at the head of his father’s partisans.

Solyman was easily induced by these arguments to sign the death-warrant of his grandson. He commissioned Ibrahim Pasha to go to Ghemlik with all speed, and put the innocent child to death.

On arriving at Ghemlik, Ibrahim took special care to conceal his errand from the lad’s mother, for that she should be allowed to know of her son’s execution, and almost see it with her eyes, would have seemed too barbarous. Besides, his object, if it got wind, might provoke an insurrection, and so his plans be frustrated.

By the following artifice he threw her off her guard. He pretended he was sent by Solyman to visit her and her son; he said his master had found out, when too late, that he had made a terrible mistake in putting Mustapha to death, and intended, by his affection for the son, to atone for his injustice to the father.

Many stories of this kind he told, in order to gain credence with the fond mother, whose fears had, at that time, been to a great extent dispelled by the news of Roostem’s fall. After thus flattering her hopes, he presented her with a few trifling gifts.

A couple of days later he threw in a word about the confined atmosphere of the city, and the desirability of change of air, and so obtained her consent to their setting out next day for a seat near the city. She herself was to go in a carriage, and her son to ride in front of the carriage on horseback. There was nothing in these arrangements that could excite suspicion, and so she agreed. A carriage was got ready, the axle-tree of which was so put together as to ensure its breaking when they came to a certain rough place, which they needs must cross. Accordingly, the mother entered the carriage, and set forth, poor woman, on her journey into the country. The eunuch rode well in front with the lad, as if to take the opportunity for a chat; the mother followed with what speed she might. When they reached the rough ground I told you of, the wheel struck violently against the stones, and the axle broke. The mother, whom this accident filled with the worst forebodings, was in the greatest alarm, and could not be kept from leaving the carriage, and following her son on foot, attended only by a few of her women. But the eunuch had already reached his destination. As soon as he had crossed the threshold of the house which was to be the scene of the murder, he uttered the sentence of death: ‘The order of the Sultan is that you must die.’ The boy, they say, made answer like a true Turk, that he received the decree, not as the order of the Sultan, but the command of God; and, with these words on his lips, suffered the fatal noose to be placed round his neck. And so—young, innocent, and full of promise—the little fellow was strangled. When the deed was done the eunuch slipped out by a back door, and fled for his life. Presently came the mother. She had already guessed what had taken place. She knocked at the door. When all was over, they let her in. There lay her son before her eyes, his body still warm with life, the pulses throbbing, the breath hardly departed from him. But we had better draw a veil over the sad scene. What a mother’s feelings must have been to see her son thus entrapped and murdered, it were easier to imagine than describe.

She was then compelled to return to Ghemlik. She came into the city with her hair dishevelled and her robe rent, filling the air with her shrieks and moanings. The women of Ghemlik, high and low, gathered round her; and when they heard of the fearful deed that had been perpetrated, like frenzied Bacchantes they rushed out of the gates. ‘Where’s the eunuch? Where’s the eunuch?’ is their cry. And woe to him had he fallen into their hands. But he, knowing what impended, and fearing to be torn in pieces by the furious women, like a second Orpheus,116 lost no time in making his escape.

But I must now return to my subject. A messenger was despatched to Solyman, with a letter announcing my arrival. During the interval, while we were waiting for his answer, I had an opportunity of seeing Constantinople at my leisure. My chief wish was to visit the Church of St. Sophia; to which, however, I only obtained admission as a special favour, as the Turks think that their temples are profaned by the entrance of a Christian. It is a grand and massive building, well worth visiting. There is a huge central cupola, or dome, lighted only from a circular opening at the top. Almost all the Turkish mosques are built after the pattern of St. Sophia. Some say it was formerly much bigger, and that there were several buildings in connection with it, covering a great extent of ground, which were pulled down many years ago, the shrine in the middle of the church alone being left standing.

As regards the position of the city, it is one which nature herself seems to have designed for the mistress of the world. It stands in Europe, Asia is close in front, with Egypt and Africa on its right; and though these last are not, in point of distance, close to Constantinople, yet, practically, the communication by sea links them to the city. On the left, are the Black Sea and the Sea of Azoff. Many nations live all round the coasts of these seas, and many rivers pour into them; so that, through the length and breadth of these countries, which border on the Black Sea, there is nothing grown for man’s use, which cannot, with the greatest ease, be brought to Constantinople by water. On one side the city is washed by the Sea of Marmora, on the other the creek forms a harbour which, from its shape, is called by Strabo ‘the Golden Horn.’ On the third side it is united to the mainland, so that its position may be described as a peninsula or promontory formed by a ridge running out between the sea on one side, and the frith on the other. Thus from the centre of Constantinople there is a most exquisite view over the sea, and of Mount Olympus in Asia, white with perpetual snow. The sea is perfectly crowded with shoals of fish making their way, after the manner of their kind, from the Sea of Azoff and the Black Sea through the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmora into the Ægean and Mediterranean, or again returning to the Black Sea. The shoals are so big, and so closely packed, that sometimes fish can be caught with the hand. Mackerel, tunnies, bigheads, bream, and sword-fish are to be had in abundance. The fishermen are, for the most part, Greeks, as they take to this occupation more readily than the Turks, although the latter do not despise fish when brought to table, provided they are of the kinds which they consider clean; as for the rest, they would as lief take a dose of poison as touch them. I should tell you, by the way, that a Turk would sooner have his tongue or teeth torn out, than taste anything which he considers unclean, as, for instance, a frog, a snail, or a tortoise. The Greeks are subject to the same superstition. I had engaged a lad of the Greek Church as purveyor for my people. His fellow-servants had never been able to induce him to eat snails; at last they set a dish of them before him, cooked and seasoned in such a way that he fancied it was some kind of fish, and helped himself to it most liberally. But when the other servants, laughing and giggling, produced the snail shells, and showed him that he had been taken in, his distress was such as to baffle all description. He rushed to his chamber, where there was no end to his tears, misery, and sickness. He declared that it would cost him two months’ wages, at the least, to obtain absolution for his sin; it being the custom of Greek priests to charge those who come for confession a price varying with the nature and extent of the offence, and to refuse absolution to those who do not comply with their demand.

At the end of the promontory I mentioned, stands the palace of the Turkish Sultan, which, as far as I can see—for I have not yet been admitted within its walls—has no grandeur of design or architectural details to make it worth a visit. Below the palace, on lower ground near the shore, lie the Sultan’s gardens fringing the sea. This is the quarter where people think that old Byzantium stood. You must not expect here to have the story of why in former days the people of Chalcedon were called blind,117 who lived opposite Byzantium—the very ruins of Chalcedon have now well nigh disappeared; neither must you expect to hear of the peculiar nature of the sea, in that it flows downwards with a current that never stops nor changes; nor about the pickled condiments which are brought to Constantinople from the Sea of Azoff, which the Italians call moronellas, botargas, and caviare. Such matters would be out of place here; indeed, I think I have already exceeded the limits of a letter; besides, they are facts which can be read both in ancient and modern authors.

I now return to Constantinople. Nothing could exceed the beauty or the commercial advantages of its situation. In Turkish cities it is, as I told you before, useless to expect handsome buildings or fine streets; the extreme narrowness of the latter renders a good effect impossible. In many places are to be found interesting remains of ancient works of art, and yet, as regards number, the only marvel is that more are not in existence, when we remember how many Constantine brought from Rome. I do not intend to describe each of them separately, but I will touch on a few. On the site of the ancient hippodrome are a pair of bronze serpents,118 which people go to see, and also a remarkable obelisk. There are besides two famous pillars at Constantinople, which are considered among the sights. One of them is opposite the caravanserai where we were entertained, and the other is in the market-place which the Turks call ‘Avret Bazaar,’ i.e. the female slave market. It is engraven from top to bottom with the history of the expedition of Arcadius, who built it, and by whose statue it was long surmounted. It would be more correct to call it a spiral staircase than a column, for there is inside it a set of steps, by ascending which one can reach the top. I have a picture of it. On the other hand, the column119 which stands opposite the inn where it is usual for the imperial Ambassadors to be lodged, is formed, with the exception of its base and capital, of eight solid blocks of porphyry, united in such a way as to present the appearance of a single block. Indeed, the popular belief is that it is made out of one piece; for each separate joining is covered by a band running right round the column, on which laurels are carved. By this means the joinings are concealed from the eyes of those who look at it from the ground. Having been shaken by several earthquakes, and scorched by a fire in the neighbourhood, the column is splitting in many places, and is here and there belted with iron to prevent its coming to pieces. They say that it was at one time surmounted by a statue of Apollo, afterwards by one of Constantine, and lastly by that of Theodosius the elder, all of which were successively thrown down by a gale or an earthquake.

The Greeks tell the following story about the obelisk in the hippodrome, which I mentioned above. They say that it was torn from its base, and lay on the ground for many years, and that in the time of the later Emperors, an architect was found who undertook to replace it on its pedestal. The contract being concluded, he set up a huge machine, which was chiefly worked by ropes and pulleys; by this means he got the huge stone into an upright position, and raised it within three inches of the blocks, on which it had to be placed. The spectators forthwith concluded that all the architect’s trouble, and the labour he had bestowed on his machine, had been to no purpose, and that the work would have to be begun afresh, at the cost of great toil and great expense. But the architect was not in the least alarmed, and, profiting by one of nature’s secrets, he ordered large supplies of water to be brought. With this for several hours the machine was drenched. As the ropes, by which the obelisk was suspended, got wet, they gradually contracted, and of course became shorter, so that the obelisk was raised higher and placed on the blocks, amid the cheers and admiration of the crowd.120

I saw at Constantinople wild beasts of different kinds—lynxes, wild cats, panthers, leopards, and lions, so subdued and tame that one of them, when I was looking on, suffered its keeper to pull out of its mouth a sheep that had that moment been thrown to it. The creature remained quite quiet, though its jaws were but just stained with blood.

I saw also a young elephant which could dance and play ball most cleverly. When you read this, I am sure you will not be able to suppress a smile. ‘An elephant,’ you will say, ‘dancing and playing ball!’ Well, why not? Is it more wonderful than the elephant which, Seneca tells us, walked on the tight rope, or that one which Pliny describes as a Greek scholar?

But I must make myself clear, lest you should think I am romancing, or misunderstand me. When the elephant was told to dance, it hopped and shuffled, swaying itself to and fro, as if it fain would dance a jig. It played ball after the following fashion:—On the ball being thrown to it, the elephant caught it cleverly, driving it back with his trunk, as we do with the palm of the hand. If this is not enough in your eyes to warrant the assertion that the animal danced and played ball, you must go to some one who can make up a story with less scruple and more wit than your humble servant.

Just before I reached Constantinople there was a camelopard (giraffe) in the menagerie; but at the time of my visit it was dead and buried. However, I had its bones dug up for the purpose of examining them. The creature is much taller in front than behind, and on that account unfit for carrying burdens or being ridden. It is called a camelopard because its head and neck are like a camel’s, while its skin is spotted like a pard (panther).

If I had not visited the Black Sea, when I had an opportunity of sailing thither, I should have deserved to be blamed for my laziness, since the ancients held it to be quite as great an exploit to have visited the Black Sea, as to have sailed to Corinth. Well, we had a delightful voyage, and I was allowed to enter some of the royal kiosks. On the folding doors of one of these palaces I saw a picture of the famous battle121 between Selim and Ismael, King of the Persians, executed in masterly style, in tesselated work. I saw also a great many pleasure-grounds belonging to the Sultan, situated in the most charming valleys. Their loveliness was almost entirely the work of nature; to art they owed little or nothing. What a fairyland! What a landscape for waking a poet’s fancy! What a retreat for a scholar to retire to! I do declare that, as I said just now, these spots seem to grieve and ask for Christian help and Christian care once more; and still truer are these words of Constantinople, or rather of the whole of Greece. That land was once most prosperous; today it is subject to an unnatural bondage. It seems as if the country, which in ancient times discovered the fine arts and every liberal science, were demanding back that civilisation which it gave to us, and were adjuring us, by the claim of a common faith, to be its champion against savage barbarism. But it is all in vain. The princes of Christendom have other objects in view; and, after all, the Greeks are not under heavier bondage to the Turks, than we are to our own vices—luxury, intemperance, sloth, lust, pride, ambition, avarice, hatred, envy, malice. By these our souls are so weighed down and buried, that they cannot look up to heaven, or entertain one glorious thought, or contemplate one noble deed. The ties of a common faith, and the duty we owe our brethren ought to have drawn us to their assistance, even though glory and honour had no charm for our dull hearts; at any rate, self-interest, which is the first thing men think of nowadays, should have made us anxious to rescue lands so fair, with all their great resources and advantages, from the hand of the barbarian, that we might hold them in his stead. At present we are seeking across the wide seas the Indies122 and Antipodes. And why? It is because in those lands there are simple, guileless creatures from whom rich booty may be torn without the cost of a single wound. For these expeditions religion supplies the pretext and gold the motive.

This was not the fashion with our ancestors. They scorned to place themselves on the level of a trader by seeking those lands where gold was most plentiful, but deemed that land most desirable which gave them the best opportunity of proving their valour and performing their duty. They, too, had their toil; they, too, had their dangers; they, too, had their distant expeditions; but honour was the prize they sought, not profit. When they came home from their wars, they came home not richer in wealth, but richer in renown.123

These words are for your private ear, for perhaps some may hold it foul wrong for a man to suggest that the moral tone of the present day leaves aught to be desired. However that may be, I see that the arrows are being sharpened for our destruction; and I fear it will turn out that if we will not fight for glory, we shall be compelled to fight for existence.

I will now take you back to the sea which the ancients call Pontus and the Turks call Caradenis, or the Black Sea. It pours through a narrow outlet into the Thracian Bosphorus, down which it rolls, beating against the curving headlands with many an eddy till it reaches Constantinople after the space of one day. At this point it rushes into the Sea of Marmora by a passage almost as narrow as that by which it enters the Bosphorus. In the middle of the mouth next the Black Sea is a rock with a column, on the base of which a Roman name is written in Latin characters (‘Octavian,’ if I remember rightly); then on the European shore is a lofty tower, which serves as a lighthouse to ships by night. They call it Pharos.124 Not far from it a brook flows into the sea, from whose bed we gathered some pebbles almost equal to the onyx and sardonyx; at any rate, when they are polished they are nearly as brilliant. A few miles from the entrance I mentioned are shown the straits across which Darius led his army in his expedition against the Scythians of Europe; then half-way between the northern and southern entrances to the Bosphorus stand two castles opposite each other, one in Europe and the other in Asia. The latter was held by the Turks a long time before the attack on Constantinople; the former was built by Mahomet, and fortified with strong towers, a few years before he stormed Constantinople. At present the Turks use it for the incarceration of prisoners of rank. Not long ago, Lazarus, an

Albanian chief, made his escape from it. He was recaptured with the Spaniards at Castel Nuovo,125 and brought back to Constantinople. For this offence he suffered the fearful punishment of impalement, but bore his sufferings with wonderful composure.

And now, perhaps, you will want me to tell you something about the floating islands, called the Cyanean126 islands, or Symplegades. I honestly confess that during the few hours I was there I was unable to discover any Cyanean islands, though possibly they had floated off somewhere else! If you are disposed to be curious on this head you will before long have a more accurate account from P. Gilles,127 whose researches into all subjects of this kind are most precise; from me you must not expect to hear of more than meets the traveller’s eye.

One matter it would be unpardonable to pass by in silence, viz. that Polybius is utterly wrong in the conclusion which he deduces from various arguments, that in process of time the Black Sea would be so choked by the alluvial soil brought into it by the Danube, the Dneiper, and other rivers, as to become unnavigable. He is utterly wrong, I say, for there is not one atom more difficulty in sailing over the Black Sea now than there was in his days.

This is one of those numerous instances in which time and experience upset conclusions, which in theory seemed impregnable.

In former days everyone subscribed to the opinion that the lands under the torrid zone were uninhabitable, and yet the accounts of men who have visited those regions prove that they are for the most part quite as thickly populated as other countries; nay more, they tell us that at the very time when the sun is at its highest, and its rays fall perpendicularly on the earth, the heat128 is tempered by continuous rains shading and cooling those lands.

When the Sultan had received the despatches announcing my arrival, orders were sent to the Governor of Constantinople to convey us over to Asia, and send us on to Amasia (or Amazeia, as it is spelt on ancient coins). Accordingly, we made our preparations, our guides were appointed, and on March 9 we crossed into Anatolia, as the Turks now call Asia. On that day we did not get further than Scutari. This village lies on the Asiatic shore opposite ancient Byzantium, on the very ground, or possibly a little below, where the site of the famous city of Chalcedon is supposed to be.

The Turks thought it quite sufficient progress for one day to get horses, carriages, luggage, and suite across the straits; their special reason for not going further on that day was, that, if they had forgotten anything necessary for the journey, (a very ordinary circumstance), they would not have far to send for it. Leaving Scutari on the next day, we passed through fields full of lavender, and other fragrant plants. Here we saw a great many big tortoises crawling about. They were not afraid of us, and we should have caught and eaten them with the greatest pleasure, had we not shrunk from hurting the feelings of the Turks who accompanied us; for had they touched them, or so much as seen them brought to our table, they would have held themselves to be defiled, and would have required endless washings to remove their imaginary pollution. You will remember my telling you of the extent to which both Greeks and Turks carry their superstition in avoiding contact with animals of this kind. Since no one, therefore, would snare as vermin a creature so harmless, and no one will eat it, the consequence is that tortoises swarm in these parts. I kept one which had two heads for several days, and it would have lived longer had I not neglected it.

That day we came to a village called Cartali. By the way, I shall from this point be glad to give you the names of our halting-places. The journey to Constantinople has been taken by many, but the road to Amasia has, to the best of my knowledge, been traversed by no European before us. From Cartali we came to Gebise, a town of Bithynia, which they think was formerly Libyssa, famous as the burial-place of Hannibal. From it there is a most lovely view over the sea and bay of Ismid; I observed also some cypresses of extraordinary height and girth.

Our fourth stage from Constantinople brought us to Nicomedia (Ismid). It is an ancient city of great renown; but we saw nothing in it worth looking at except its ruins and rubbish, which contained, in the remnants of column and architrave, all that is left of its ancient grandeur. The citadel, which stands on a hill, is in a better state of preservation. Shortly before our arrival, a long wall of white marble had been discovered under the earth by some people who had been digging, which, I am inclined to think, formed part of the ancient palace of the kings of Bithynia.

After leaving Nicomedia, we crossed the range of Mount Olympus, and arrived at the village of Kasockli; thence to NicÆa (Isnik), which we did not reach till late in the evening. I heard not far from the city loud shouting, and what seemed to be cries of mockery and insult issuing from human lips. I asked what it was, suggesting that it might proceed from some boatmen on the Lake of Isnik, which was not far off, and that they were chaffing us for being so late on the road. They told me that it was the howlings of certain wild beasts, which the Turks call jackals. They are a species of wolf, not so large as the common wolf, but larger than foxes, and quite a match for the former in greed and gluttony. They hunt in packs, doing no harm to human beings or cattle, and obtaining their food by thievery and cunning rather than by force. Hence the Turks call sharpers and swindlers, especially if they come from Asia, jackals. They enter the tents, and even the houses, of the Turks at night, and devour any eatables they find; indeed, if they can get nothing else, they gnaw any leathern article they may chance upon, such as boots, leggings, belts, scabbards, &c. They are very clever in this manner of stealing, except in one particular, for, absurdly enough, they sometimes give evidence against themselves. When in the very act of stealing, if one of the pack outside happens to set up a howl, they answer the cry, quite forgetting where they are. The sound awakes the inmates; they catch up their arms and visit the thieves, whom they have taken red-handed, with condign punishment.

We remained the following day at NicÆa, and I am inclined to think that the building I slept in was the very one in which the Nicene Council was formerly held. NicÆa lies on the shores of the Lake of Isnik. The walls and gates of the town are in fairly good condition. There are four gateways in all, and they can be seen from the centre of the market-place. On each of them is an ancient inscription in Latin, stating that the town had been restored by Antoninus. I do not remember which Antoninus it was, but I am quite certain that it was an Antoninus, who was Emperor. He also built some baths, the remains of which are still in existence.

Whilst we were at NicÆa, some Turks, who were digging up stone from the ruins for the construction of public buildings at Constantinople, came across a statue of an armed soldier, of excellent workmanship, and almost perfect. But with their hammers they soon reduced it to a shapeless mass. On our expressing vexation at this act of theirs, the workmen jeered at us, and asked us if we wanted, in accordance with our customs, to worship the statue and pray to it.

From NicÆa (Isnik) we came to Jenysar (Yeni Shehr), next to Ackbyuck, and thence to Bazargyck (Bazarjik), from which place we came to Bosovick, or Cassumbasa, which lies in the gorge of the pass over Mount Olympus. From NicÆa our road lay almost entirely along the slopes of Mount Olympus, until we reached Bosovick.

Here we lodged in a Turkish hostel. Opposite stood a rock somewhat higher than the building, in which was cut a square cistern of considerable size, and from the bottom of it a pipe ran down to the highway road. The ancient inhabitants used in winter to fill the cistern with snow; as it melted, the iced water, trickling down to the road through the pipe, refreshed the thirsty wayfarer.

The Turks consider public works of this kind the noblest sort of almsgiving, inasmuch as they help not only everyone, but everyone equally. Not far from this spot Otmanlik was pointed out to us on our right—the retreat, as I imagine, of the famous Othman, founder of the family which bears his name.

From this pass we descended into wide plains, where we spent our first night under tents, on account of the heat. The place was called Chiausada. Here we saw a subterranean house, which was lighted only by an opening in the roof. We saw also the famous goats129 from whose fleece—or hair, if you like the word better—is woven the watered stuff known as mohair. The hair of these goats is extremely fine and marvellously flossy, hanging down to the very ground; the goatherds do not shear it, but comb it off, and it is almost as beautiful as silk. The goats are frequently washed in running water. Their food is the scanty dry grass peculiar to these plains, and it is to this that the fineness of their coats is chiefly owing; for it is an ascertained fact, that when the goats are removed elsewhere, their wool does not retain its silky character, but changes with the pasturage; indeed, the whole animal degenerates to such an extent that one would scarcely recognise the breed. These fleeces, after being spun into thread by the women of the country, are taken to Angora,130 a city of Galatia, and there woven and dyed; further on I will give you a description of the process. In this locality is also to be found that curious breed of sheep with great fat tails; indeed, their flocks consist of little else. The tails weigh from three or four to as much as eight or ten pounds;131 so big are the tails of some of the older sheep, that it is necessary to furnish them with a carriage for their support, which consists of a little board running on a pair of small wheels, so that the sheep may drag that which it cannot carry. This, perhaps, you will hardly believe, and yet I am telling you the truth. Now, while I fully admit that there is a certain advantage in these tails from the supply of fat which they yield, I must say I found the rest of the meat tough and wanting in flavour, as compared with ordinary mutton. The shepherds, who manage these flocks, never leave the pasture grounds by night or day, carrying their wives and children about with them in waggons, which they use as houses, except on certain occasions when they pitch small tents. These men wander to great distances, choosing plain, hillside, or valley, according to the season of the year and the state of the pasturage.

I flatter myself that I discovered in this district some species of birds which our countrymen have never seen, nor even heard of. Amongst these is a kind of duck, which may fairly be classed among horn-blowers, since its cry is exactly like the sound of a postman’s horn. This bird, in spite of its inability to defend itself, is bold and saucy. The Turks believe that it can frighten evil spirits away. However that may be, it is so fond of its liberty that after being kept a good three years in a farm-yard, if it gets the opportunity, it prefers freedom and hunger to captivity and plenty, and flies off to its old haunts by the river.

From Chiausada we came to Karaly, thence to Hazdengri, and so to Mazzotthoy. We then crossed the river Sangarius (Sakariyeh) which rises in Phrygia and flows into the Black Sea, to Mahathli, thence to Zugli, Chilancyck, Jalanchich, Potughin, and so to Angora (Ancyra)—which the Turks call Angur.

We remained one day at Angora. As the weather was hot we made but short stages. Moreover, our Turks assured us that there was no need for hurry, as the Persian Ambassador was still lingering on the road, and the authorities wished us both to arrive at Amasia as nearly as possible at the same time.

In none of the villages mentioned above did we see anything worth notice, save that, among the Turkish burial places we sometimes lighted on ancient columns, or blocks of fine marble, on which traces still remained of Greek and Roman inscriptions, but so mutilated that they could not be read. It was my amusement, on reaching our lodgings for the night, to inquire for ancient inscriptions, or coins of Greece or Rome, and, if these were not forthcoming, for rare plants.

It is a practice of the Turks to cover in the tombs of their friends with huge stones, which they bring from a great distance. No earth is thrown upon the graves, and but for these stones they would lie open. They are intended to furnish the dead man with a convenient seat when he pleads his case, as he will have to do—according to their notion—with his evil angel as his accuser and examiner, and his good angel as counsel for the defence. The object of placing a heavy stone on the grave is to protect the body from dogs, wolves, and other beasts; the most pertinacious of which is the hyena, a creature often met with in these parts. It burrows its way into the graves, pulls out the bodies, and carries them off to its den, the mouth of which is marked by a huge heap of bones of men, horses, and other animals. The hyena is a creature not quite so tall as a wolf, but quite as long in body. Its skin resembles that of a wolf, except that the hair is rougher, and it is also marked with large black spots; the head is firmly attached to the backbone, without any joint between, so that when it wants to look back it must turn right round. They say that it has, in the place of teeth, one continuous bone.

The Turks, like the ancients, think that the hyena has great efficacy in love charms, and though there were two hyenas at Constantinople when I was there, the owners refused to sell them to me; assigning as a reason that they were keeping them for the Sultana, i.e. the wife of the Sultan—the popular belief being that she retains her husband’s affection by means of philtres and sorceries. Belon,132 I must tell you, is wrong in thinking that the civet cat is the same as the hyena.

Now for one of the best jokes you ever heard in your life. I will tell you the story just as I had it from the lips of the natives. They say that the hyena, which they call Zirtlan, understands the language of men (the ancients, by the way, said that it also imitated it), and that it is therefore captured in the following way. The hunters go to its den, which is not hard to find, being marked by a heap of bones, as I mentioned before. One of them enters with a rope, one end of which he leaves in the hands of his friends outside the cave. He creeps in, saying, ‘Joctur, joctur ucala,’ that is, ‘I cannot find it; it is not here.’ Meantime, imagining from what he says that its hiding-place is not discovered, the beast remains perfectly still, until the hunter has succeeded in attaching the rope to its leg, shouting out all the time ‘that the hyena is not there.’ Then, with the same words, he goes back, and as soon as he has got out of the den he shouts out at the top of his voice that the hyena is inside; the creature, understanding what he says, makes a rush to escape, but all in vain, the hunters hold him fast by the rope round his leg. After this fashion they say it is killed; or, if pains be taken, it may be captured alive; but this is a difficult matter, for it is a fierce brute, and makes a stout resistance. So much for the hyena.

We found, in some places, ancient coins in great abundance, especially those of the later emperors, Constantinus, Constans, Justinus, Valens, Valentinianus, Numerianus, Probus, Tacitus, &c. In many places the Turks used them for the drachm and half-drachm weights. They call them ‘giaur manguri,’ or, ‘the infidel’s money.’

There were, besides, many coins of the neighbouring cities of Asia, Amysus, Sinope, Comana, Amastris, and lastly, some of Amasia, the city to which we were going. Talking of coins, a coppersmith roused my anger by telling me, when I inquired for coins, that a few days before he had had a whole potful of them, and that, thinking they were worthless, he had melted them down, and made several copper kettles out of the metal. I was greatly vexed at the destruction of so many interesting relics; but I had my revenge. I informed him that, if he had not destroyed the coins, I would have given him a hundred gold pieces for them. So I sent him away quite as unhappy at the loss of the windfall which he had been so near getting, as I was at the sacrifice of these records of antiquity.

We did not meet with many new botanical specimens on the road. The plants were, for the most part, identical with those in our country; the only difference being that they grew more or less luxuriantly, according to the nature of the soil.

We sought unsuccessfully for the balsam tree, which Dioscorides tells us is indigenous in Pontus, so that I cannot tell whether the stock has died out, or migrated to another country.

Angora formed our nineteenth halting place from Constantinople. It is a town of Galatia, and was, at one time, the head-quarters of the Tectosages, a Gallic tribe. Pliny and Strabo both mention it, but it is not improbable that the present city covers only a part of the ancient town. The KanÛns133 call it Anquira.

Here we saw a very beautiful inscription,134 containing a copy of the tablets in which Augustus gave a summary of his achievements. We made our people copy out as much as was legible. It is engraven on the marble walls of a building now ruinous and roofless, which formerly may have formed the official residence of the governor. As you enter the building one half of the inscription is on the right, and the other on the left. The top lines are nearly perfect; in the middle the gaps begin to present difficulties; the lowest lines are so mutilated with blows of clubs and axes as to be illegible. This is indeed a great literary loss, and one which scholars have much reason to regret; the more so as it is an ascertained fact that Ancyra was dedicated135 to Augustus as the common gift of Asia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the nonce, take your stand by my side, and look at the sea of turbaned heads, each wrapped in twisted folds of the whitest silk; look at those marvellously handsome dresses of every kind and every colour; time would fail me to tell how all around is glittering with gold, with silver, with purple, with silk, and with velvet; words cannot convey an adequate idea of that strange and wondrous sight: it was the most beautiful spectacle I ever saw.

With all this luxury great simplicity and economy are combined; every man’s dress, whatever his position may be, is of the same pattern; no fringes or useless points are sewn on, as is the case with us, appendages which cost a great deal of money, and are worn out in three days. In Turkey the tailor’s bill for a silk or velvet dress, even though it be richly embroidered, as most of them are, is only a ducat. They were quite as much surprised at our manner of dressing as we were at theirs. They use long robes reaching down to the ankles, which have a stately effect and add to the wearer’s height, while our dress is so short and scanty that it leaves exposed to view more than is comely of the human shape; besides, somehow or other, our fashion of dress seems to take from the wearer’s height, and make him look shorter than he really is.139

I was greatly struck with the silence and order that prevailed in this great crowd. There were no cries, no hum of voices, the usual accompaniments of a motley gathering, neither was there any jostling; without the slightest disturbance each man took his proper place according to his rank. The Agas, as they call their chiefs, were seated, to wit, generals, colonels (bimbaschi), and captains (soubaschi). Men of a lower position stood. The most interesting sight in this assembly was a body of several thousand Janissaries, who were drawn up in a long line apart from the rest; their array was so steady and motionless that, being at a little distance, it was some time before I could make up my mind as to whether they were human beings or statues; at last I received a hint to salute them, and saw all their heads bending at the same moment to return my bow. On leaving the assembly we had a fresh treat in the sight of the household cavalry returning to their quarters; the men were mounted on splendid horses, excellently groomed, and gorgeously accoutred. And so we left the royal presence, taking with us but little hope of a successful issue to our embassy.

By May 10 the Persian Ambassador had arrived, bringing with him a number of handsome presents, carpets from famous looms, Babylonian tents, the inner sides of which were covered with coloured tapestries, trappings and housings of exquisite workmanship, jewelled scimitars from Damascus, and shields most tastefully designed; but the chief present of all was a copy of the Koran, a gift highly prized among the Turks; it is a book containing the laws and rites enacted by Mahomet, which they suppose to be inspired.

Terms of peace were immediately granted to the Persian Ambassador with the intention of putting greater pressure on us, who seemed likely to be the more troublesome of the two; and in order to convince us of the reality of the peace, honours were showered on the representative of the Shah. In all cases, as I have already remarked, the Turks run to extremes, whether it be in honouring a friend, or in pouring contempt and insult on a foe. Ali Pasha, the second Vizier, gave the Persian suite a dinner in his gardens, which were some way from our quarters, with the river between, but still we could command a view of the place where they dined, for, as I told you before, the city is so situated on the hill sides that there is hardly a spot in it from which you cannot see and be seen. Ali Pasha, I must tell you, is by birth a Dalmatian, he is a thorough gentleman, and has (what you will be surprised to hear of in a Turk) a kind and feeling heart.

The table at which the Pashas and the Ambassador were seated was protected by an awning. A hundred pages all dressed alike acted as waiters; their method of bringing the dishes to table was as follows.

First they advanced toward the table where the guests were seated, following each other at equal distances. Their hands were empty, as otherwise they would not have been able to make their obeisance, which was performed by their putting them on their thighs, and bending their heads to the earth. Their bows being made, the page who stood nearest the kitchen began taking the dishes and handing them on to the next, who delivered them to the page next him, and so down the row until they reached the page who stood nearest the table, from whose hands the chief butler received them and placed them on the board. After this fashion a hundred dishes or more streamed (if I may use the expression) on to the table without the slightest confusion. When the dinner was served the pages again did reverence to the guests, and then returned in the same order as they had come, the only difference being that those who had been last as they came were the first as they retired, and that those who were nearest the table now brought up the rear. All the other courses were brought on to the table after the same fashion, a circumstance showing how much regard the Turks pay to order even in trifles, while we neglect it in matters of extreme importance. Not far from the Ambassador’s table his retinue was feasting with some Turks.

Peace having been concluded with the Persian, as I have already told you, it was impossible for us to obtain any decent terms from the Turk; all we could accomplish was to arrange a six months’ truce to give time for a reply to reach Vienna, and for the answer to come back.

I had come to fill the position of ambassador in ordinary; but inasmuch as nothing had been as yet settled as to a peace, the Pashas determined that I should return to my master with Solyman’s letter, and bring back an answer, if it pleased the King to send one. Accordingly I had another interview with the Sultan; two embroidered robes of ample size, and reaching down to the ankles, were thrown over my shoulders (they were as much as I could carry). All my people were likewise presented with silk dresses of different colours, which they wore as they marched in my train.

With this procession I advanced as if I was going to act the part of Agamemnon140 or some other monarch of ancient tragedy. Having received the Sultan’s letter, which was sealed up in a wrapper of cloth of gold, I took my leave; the gentlemen among my attendants were also allowed to enter and make their bow to him. Then having paid my respects in the same way to the Pashas I left Amasia with my colleagues on June 2.

It is customary to give a breakfast in the Divan (as they call the place where the Pashas hold their court), to ambassadors on the eve of their departure, but this is only done when they represent friendly governments, and no peace had as yet been arranged with us.

You will probably wish me to give you my impressions of Solyman.

His years are just beginning to tell on him, but his majestic bearing and indeed his whole demeanour are such as beseem the lord of so vast an empire. He has always had the character of being a careful and temperate man; even in his early days, when, according to the Turkish rule, sin would have been venial, his life was blameless; for not even in youth did he either indulge in wine or commit those unnatural crimes which are common among the Turks; nor could those who were disposed to put the most unfavourable construction on his acts bring anything worse against him than his excessive devotion to his wife, and the precipitate way in which, by her influence, he was induced to put Mustapha to death; for it is commonly believed that it was by her philtres and witchcraft that he was led to commit this act. As regards herself, it is a well-known fact that from the time he made her his lawful wife he has been perfectly faithful to her, although there was nothing in the laws to prevent his having mistresses as well. As an upholder of his religion and its rites he is most strict, being quite as anxious to extend his faith as to extend his empire. Considering his years (for he is now getting on for sixty) he enjoys good health, though it may be that his bad complexion arises from some lurking malady. There is a notion current that he has an incurable ulcer or cancer on his thigh. When he is anxious to impress an ambassador, who is leaving, with a favourable idea of the state of his health, he conceals the bad complexion of his face under a coat of rouge, his notion being that foreign powers will fear him more if they think that he is strong and well. I detected unmistakable signs of this practice of his; for I observed his face when he gave me a farewell audience, and found it was much altered from what it was when he received me on my arrival.

June was at its hottest when we began our journey; the heat was too much for me, and a fever was the consequence, accompanied by headache and catarrh. The attack, though mild and of an intermittent kind, was a lingering one, and I did not get rid of it till I reached Constantinople.

On the day of our departure the Persian Ambassador also left Amasia, setting out by the same road as ourselves; for, as I mentioned before, there is only one road by which the city can be entered or left, since the rugged character of the surrounding hills makes it difficult of access on every other side; the road shortly branches off in two directions, one leads eastward and the other westward; the Persians took the former and we the latter.

As we left Amasia we could see everywhere throughout the broad plains the lines of the Turkish camps crowded with tents.

There is no need for me to waste your time with a description of our return journey, since we traversed almost the same ground, and made nearly the same halts as we had done in coming, save that we travelled somewhat quicker, and occasionally got over two of our former stages in one day. Thus we reached Constantinople on June 24, and I will leave you to picture to yourself the wear and tear of the journey to one suffering like myself from a lingering fever. I returned worn to a shadow; however, after a time, having had some rest and gone through a course of warm baths, recommended by my physician Quacquelben, I soon recovered strength. He also soused me with cold water on leaving the bath; I cannot say it was pleasant, but it did me a great deal of good.

Whilst I was still at Constantinople a man who had come from the Turkish camp told me an anecdote which I shall be glad to include in my letter, as it illustrates the great dislike which the natives of Asia entertain to the religion141 and supremacy of the Ottomans. He informed me that Solyman, as he was returning, was entertained by a certain Asiatic and spent the night in his house. When the Sultan had left, the man considering it to have been polluted and defiled by the presence of such a guest, had it purified with holy water, fumigation, and religious rites. When Solyman heard of this insult to himself he ordered the man to be executed, and his house razed to the ground. So he paid heavily for his dislike to the Turks and partiality for the Persians.

After a delay of fourteen days at Constantinople, for the purpose of recruiting my strength, I set out for Vienna. But the beginning of my journey was marked by an evil chance. Just as I left Constantinople I met some waggons of boys and girls who were being carried from Hungary to the slave market at Constantinople; this is the commonest kind of Turkish merchandise, and just as loads of different kinds of goods meet the traveller’s eye, as he leaves Antwerp, so every now and then we came across unhappy Christians of all ranks, ages, and sexes who were being carried off to a horrible slavery; the men, young and old, were either driven in gangs or bound to a chain and dragged over the road in a long file, after the same fashion as we take a string of horses to a fair. It was indeed a painful sight; and I could scarce check my tears, so deeply did I feel the woes and humiliation of Christendom.

If this is not enough to make you think that my path was crossed with evil, I have something more to tell. My colleagues had placed under my care some members of their retinue who were tired of being in Turkey, in order that I might take them back with me. Well, when I had been two days on the road, I saw the head man of this party, whom they called their Voivode, riding in a waggon. He was ill, and on his foot was the plague ulcer, which he kept uncovered in order to relieve the pain. This circumstance made us all very uncomfortable, since we were afraid that, this disease being contagious, more of us would be attacked.

On reaching Adrianople, which was not far off, the poor fellow’s struggles were terminated by death. Then, as if the peril were not sufficiently great, the rest of the Hungarians seized the dead man’s clothes; one took his boots, another his doublet, another, for fear anything should be lost, snatches up his shirt, and another his linen; though the risk was perfectly obvious, we could not stop them from endangering the lives of the whole party. My physician flew from one to another, imploring them for God’s sake not to touch articles, contact with which would bring about certain death, but they were deaf to his prophecies.

Well, on the second day after our departure from Adrianople, these same fellows crowded round my physician, asking him for something to cure their sickness, which they described as an attack of headache and general languor, accompanied with a feeling of deep depression; on hearing of these symptoms my physician began to suspect that this was the first stage of the plague. He told them that ‘he had not warned them without reason; they had done their best to catch the plague, and they had caught it. In spite of their folly he would do what he could for them; but what means had he of doctoring them in the middle of a journey, where no medicines could be procured.’

On that very day, when, according to my custom on reaching our lodgings for the night, we had set out for a walk in search of interesting objects, I came across a herb in a meadow which I did not recognise. I pulled off some leaves and putting them to my nose perceived a smell like garlic; I then placed them in the hands of my physician to see if he could recognise the plant. After a careful examination he pronounced it to be scordium,142 and raising his hands to heaven offered thanks to God for placing in his path, in the hour of our need, a remedy against the plague. He immediately collected a large supply, and throwing it into a big pot he placed it on the fire to boil; he told the Hungarians to cheer up, and divided the brew amongst them, bidding them take it, when they went to bed, with Lemnian earth143 and a diascordium144 electuary; he recommended them also not to go to sleep until they had perspired profusely. They obeyed his directions and came to him again on the following day, telling him that they felt better. They asked for another dose of the same kind, and after drinking it they became convalescent. Thus by God’s goodness we were delivered from the fear of that dreadful malady. But as if all this were not enough, we were not able to accomplish the rest of our journey without further misfortune.

After passing through the lands of the Thracians and Bulgarians, which extend as far as Nissa, we traversed the country of the Servians, which reaches from Nissa to Semendria, where the Rascians begin, and so arrived at Belgrade, the weather being intensely hot, as might be expected in the dog-days.

Whilst at Belgrade we were offered one fast-day a plentiful supply of excellent fish; among them were some fine fat carp caught in the Danube, which are considered a dainty. My men stuffed themselves with this fish, and in consequence many of them were attacked by fever, which was caused more or less by their greediness. This great supply of fish—enough to satisfy forty men—cost half a thaler, and almost everything else at Belgrade is equally cheap. Hay fetches absolutely nothing; everyone is allowed to take as much as he likes out of the rich meadows; he is only charged for the cutting and the carrying. All this, as we crossed the Save, made us admire still more the wisdom of the ancient Hungarians in choosing Pannonia, and thus securing for themselves a land of plenty, capable of producing every kind of crop. We had travelled far, through many a land both in Europe and Asia, and in all that long journey we had seen nothing but stunted crops of grass, barley, oats, and wheat, with the very life scorched out of them by the heat; but when we entered Hungary, the grass was so high that those in the carriage behind could not see the carriage in front—a good proof of the fertility of the soil.

After Semendria, as I told you, the Rascians begin, and occupy the land as far as the river Drave. They are great drinkers, and are considered treacherous. I cannot tell you how they got their name, or whence they sprang, but, at any rate, they were most anxious to do what they could for us.

After passing through some of their villages, which were of no particular interest, we came to Essek, which is often inaccessible by reason of the swamps in which it lies. This is the famous battle-field which witnessed the rout of Katzianer and the destruction of a Christian army.145 Here, in consequence of the excessive heat to which we were exposed whilst passing through the open plains of Hungary, I was seized with an attack of tertian fever.

After leaving Essek, we crossed the Drave, and arrived at Laszko. Whilst resting here, wearied with the journey and worn out by heat and sickness, I was visited by the officials of the place, who came to congratulate me on my arrival. They brought enormous melons, and pears and plums of different kinds; they also furnished us with wine and bread. Everything was most excellent, and I doubt whether the famous Campania itself, highly as it is praised by past and present writers for the fertility of its soil, could produce anything to surpass the fruits they brought us. A long table standing in my bedroom was filled with these gifts. My people kept the Hungarians to supper, and gave the state of my health as the reason for not introducing them to my room. On waking, my eyes fell on the table, and I could not tell whether I was awake or dreaming, for there before my eyes appeared the veritable Horn of Plenty! At last I asked my doctor, and he informed me that he had had them set out on the table, that I might at least have the pleasure of looking at them. I asked him if I might taste them. He told me I might do so, but it must only be a ‘taste.’ Accordingly all the fruits were cut, and I took a little morsel of each, to my great refreshment. On the next day the Hungarians came and paid their respects. After complaining of wrongs received from some of their neighbours, they asked for the King’s protection.

From this place we came to Mohacz,146 the fatal field on which Louis of Hungary fell. I saw not far from the town a small stream flowing between high precipitous banks, into which the unhappy young King was thrown with his steed, and so died. He was unfortunate, but he also showed great want of judgment in venturing, with a small force of raw troops and unarmed peasants, to make a stand against the numerous and highly disciplined forces of Solyman.

From Mohacz we came to Tolna, and from Tolna to Feldvar. Here I crossed over to an island in the Danube of no great size, inhabited by the Rascians, who call it Kevi. Crossing the Danube again at this point, I arrived at Buda on August 4, twelve days after our departure from Belgrade.

During this part of our journey we lost several horses from congestion, brought on by their eating the new barley and drinking water when it was too cold. I had also been in much danger from brigands, by whom this part of the country is infested; they are for the most part Heydons.147

I had evidence a little later of the risk I had run in the confession of some fellows who were executed by the Pasha of Buda. They admitted that they had hidden themselves in the gully of a broad watercourse, over which ran a crazy bridge, with the intention of starting up from this ambuscade and attacking us. It is the easiest thing in the world for a few men to cut off a party greatly outnumbering their own on a bridge of this kind. The bridges are in such bad condition, and so full of cracks and holes, that even with the utmost care it is impossible to traverse them without great danger of one’s horses falling; and so if there are brigands to meet the party in front, and others press them in the rear, while their flanks are galled by the fire of those who are in the gully, lurking in the underwood and reeds, there would be little chance of escape; and the whole party on the bridge being on horseback, and therefore scarce able to move, would be in a worse case than ever the Romans were in the Caudine forks, and at the mercy of the brigands, to be slain or captured at their pleasure. What deterred them I know not; possibly it was the number of our party. Again, it may have been the sight of the Hungarians who accompanied me, or the circumstance that we advanced in a long column, and were not all on the bridge at the same time. Whatever the reason may have been, by God’s mercy we came safe to Buda.

The Pasha was not in the city, having encamped opposite Buda, in the plains near Pesth, called Rakos,148 where, after the custom of the Hungarians, he was holding a muster of Turkish feudal militia. Several of the neighbouring Sanjak-beys were with him, but more were expected; and so when I asked for an audience, he put me off for three days, in order that he might have a greater assemblage of Sanjak-beys and soldiers. On receiving a summons, I crossed the Danube and came to his camp. He made many complaints of the outrages committed by certain Hungarians. There is one point in which the Turks and Hungarians have precisely the same way of proceeding, the latter being quite as bad as the former. When they have committed some outrage, they complain of their unfortunate victim as if he were the one in fault. The Pasha also added threats of reprisals, thinking, probably, that I should be intimidated by the presence of his army. I replied briefly that his charge against the Hungarians might with much better reason be brought against the Turks. I told him that, even on my way there, I had come across soldiers of his who were engaged in plundering and harrying the property of some unhappy Christian peasants who were subjects of his Royal Majesty (King Ferdinand), which was perfectly true. The Pasha replied that he had handed over to the soldiers certain rebellious Christians, who were the Sultan’s subjects, to be chastised and pillaged. After rejoinders of this kind, he dismissed me, more dead than alive, for this was the day on which my fever recurred.

On the next day we set out for Gran, under the escort of some Turkish horsemen. My intention was to cross the Danube, and spend the night in a village which lies on the opposite bank over against Gran, so that the next day I might reach Komorn at an earlier hour, and in this way lessen the effects of the fever, which I expected to recur on that day. Accordingly I requested our conductor to send some one forward to bring the ferry-bridge across to our bank, with a view to accelerating our passage. Although there were several reasons which rendered this plan scarcely feasible, still, partly from a wish to please me, and partly because he was anxious to announce my coming to the Sanjak-bey, he despatched a couple of men.

When the men had ridden forward for the space of one hour, they noticed four horsemen under the shade of a tree, which stood at a little distance from the road. As they were dressed in Turkish fashion, they took them for Turks, and rode up. On coming nearer, they inquired whether the country in that direction was fairly quiet. The four horsemen made no reply, but charged on them with drawn swords, and slashed one of the Turks over the face, cutting his nose nearly off, so that the greater part of it hung down on his chin. One of the Turks was leading his horse by the rein. This the horsemen seized, and one of them mounted on its back, leaving his own scurvy jade in its place. After this exchange of steeds they took to flight, while the Turks fell back to our party—the man whose face had been damaged bellowing lustily, and showing the horrid wound he had received. They told us to make ready for fighting our way through an ambuscade they had discovered. Even I got into the saddle, in the hope of encouraging my men. But we came too late; the battle was all over. The fellows, who were far more anxious to carry off their booty than to bandy blows, were already galloping back to Raab, a town which our people hold, and of the garrison of which they formed a part. The Turks pointed them out to us, as they rode across the neighbouring hills on their way to Raab.

After this adventure we came to Gran, where next day the Sanjak-bey, after giving me a hearty welcome, recommended me, amongst other things, not to forget the proof I had just received of how insolent Hungarian soldiers could be, and to remember that not even the respect due to the presence of his Royal Majesty’s ambassador had kept them from playing their old tricks. He requested me also to see that the horse which had been taken away was returned. Meanwhile, my friend the Turk who had been wounded was standing in a corner of the Sanjak-bey’s hall, with his head covered with bandages and his nose freshly sewn up. As he drew his breath there was a kind of hoarse, uncomfortable sound. He kept asking me for something to comfort him under his misfortune. I promised to give him that which should cure his wound, and presented him with two gold ducats. He wanted more, but the Sanjak-bey cut him short, and declared that it was enough, and more than enough, to cure him, reminding him that his misfortune must have been predestined, and therefore I could not justly be held responsible for it!

After this I was allowed to resume my journey, and on the same day reached Komorn. Here I waited patiently for my fever to come on at its regular time. At last I found that it had left me, and that the Turkish fever had not ventured to cross into Christian territory! Hereupon I gave thanks to God for delivering me, in one and the same day, both from sickness and also from the toils and troubles of a long and difficult journey.

Two days later I reached Vienna, but I did not find my most gracious master Ferdinand, King of the Romans, in the city. At present his place at Vienna is occupied by Maximilian, King of Bohemia, whose kindness has made me well nigh forget the hardships I have undergone; but I am still so reduced by loss of flesh and lack of care, and the inconveniences arising from travelling whilst sick, that many imagine I have been poisoned by the Turks. At any rate, the other day, when the Archduke Ferdinand was here and I bowed to him, on his asking one of his people who I was, the man replied, loud enough for me to hear, that ‘my looks might tell from what country I had come;’ probably intending to suggest that I had swallowed the same sort of mushroom as Claudius149 of old. But I am quite certain that I am suffering from nothing of the kind, and that after a little rest I shall recover my colour, my strength, and my general condition; indeed, I feel every day that there is a gradual change for the better.

In the meantime I have sent news of my return to the King of the Romans, informing him at the same time of the six months’ truce, and giving him a short account of the negotiations in which I have been engaged. When he returns from the Diet, in the affairs of which he is now engaged, I shall be able to give him a full report.

Many, who from fear or some other reason, shrank from accompanying me to Constantinople, would now give a handsome sum for the honour of having returned with me. Their case reminds me of the famous line in Plautus—

A man has no right to ask for part of the profit, if he has not taken on himself part of the work.

You have now got an account of my journey to Amasia as well as the history of my journey to Constantinople; the yarn I have spun is rough and ready, just as I should tell it if we were chatting together. You will be bound to excuse the want of polish, inasmuch as I have complied with your request, and despatched my letter at an early date. In mere fairness

you cannot expect fine writing from a man who is hurried and overwhelmed with business. As to fine writing indeed, I do not believe I am capable of it, even if I had time to think and leisure to compose.

But while I own my deficiencies in this respect, I have the satisfaction of feeling that I can claim for my poor narrative one merit, compared with which all other merits are as nothing. It is written in a spirit of honesty and truth.

Vienna, September 1, 1555.150