Visit to the Pasha (Part 1)

We set out in the morning from Kamieniec with Madame de Witt and many gentlemen who accompanied us. We arrived around noon in Khotyn.

The sight of a Turkish town is a striking impression that surprises when one sees it for the first time. The minarets rising above the other buildings and gleaming from afar. The houses painted in various colors, the galleries surrounding them adorned with balconies, on which garlands of flowers seem to be arranged; on these galleries, Turks sitting—or rather lying—on large sofas, smoking and giving themselves over to a certain kind of idle leisure that constitutes the essence of their character.

We went to the pasha, who had been informed of our arrival and who received us very well. But lying on a large ottoman at the back of the room, his courtesy and the joy he said he felt at our visit were expressed only by a slight smile and the oriental gesture of placing his hand on his forehead and on his heart. This meant that such was the way of receiving someone.

I intend here to sketch a description of the room and the figure of the pasha.

The hall was square, rather low, and entirely painted in various colors and patterns. A sofa of Turkish fabric stood on a raised platform running around the whole chamber, bordered in several places by a wooden gallery. The pasha, very old, had a beautiful and striking appearance. Lovely black eyes and features whose gentleness seemed to herald a calm and serene soul. His beard was completely white, covering his chest entirely. His turban, pure white, of delicate muslin, seemed to me to make at least thirty folds around his head, and appeared arranged with great care. His undercoat and wide trousers were of pure white Turkish fabric, with silver bouquets. His robe and kaftan, white or of various Turkish camelots, were of perfect beauty. His sash, of white shawl, held a dagger with a golden hilt, from which hung a finely crafted chain in oriental style, interwoven with turquoise. This handsome elder, whose beard time had whitened, dressed all in white, held in his arms his little niece, barely eight years old. Rosy cheeks, her beautiful black eyes, hair of the same color barely covering her alabaster forehead. Her coral lips, truly adorned with the charm of that age and all the oriental liveliness, were further embellished by her pretty outfit. An embroidered but open blouse revealed her chest and shoulders. Wide trousers of light fabric in the color of hay emphasized her brightness and formed her entire attire. Her little hands played with the white beard of the old man, and the vividness of her colors, set against the simplicity and whiteness of her uncle’s garments, created a striking contrast. I was moved by this picture when I entered. It seemed to me that time was playing with childhood.

The pasha was surprised at why I stood motionless. I admitted the truth, and when Madame de Witte explained it to him in Turkish, he smiled and was flattered. Stools were set in a circle for the men, and we were seated on cushions. But the pasha, casting a glance at our companions, was scandalized to see them all bareheaded. Among the Turks this is a discourtesy, so he declared that they must absolutely cover themselves. It should be mentioned here that at that time men wore only triangular hats covered with taffeta, which they usually carried under their arm; it was fashion, elegance. When our men found themselves in the situation of having to cover their heads, and agreed they must comply, they placed their tricorns on their heads, and to keep them from falling, they held the free edge beneath the rest of the head. There were two among them who had very old, enormous hats, fashionable the year before, but which had been purposely folded and crushed to be carried under the arm. Old remnants of feathers and traces were their adornment. When I saw all our men sitting on those stools with all these hats upon their heads, I was overcome by a sudden burst of laughter, which soon spread to the whole company. The pasha also laughed heartily and asked why they had such hats, since one could neither cover oneself with them nor adorn oneself by them. I left Madame de Witte the trouble of replying, for there was nothing good to be said. Witosławski, Dzikowski, and several others dressed in Polish costume triumphed with their fine caps, which looked excellent.

Soon after, the pasha rose and had us told that, according to his law, being unable to eat with Christians, he would retire to another chamber. At the same moment, a crowd of janissaries entered and brought in a fairly large, low, round silver dining tray. Cushions were arranged around it, and a multitude of dishes were brought, laid on the table, and immediately removed from the other side, so that it was never left bare. I asked what this meant. Madame de Witte explained to me that since the janissaries had the right to take away everything that remained on the table, and as the pasha was not present, they abused this privilege and at the same time enjoyed playing a trick on the Christians. I therefore hit upon the idea of defending ourselves and, seizing a heavy and strong spoon with a long handle which lay on the table, I placed myself in ambush. Just then a chicken with rice was brought in; it had scarcely been set upon the table when a large, dry hand already stretched forth to snatch it. Then, using the weapon I had seized, I dealt a mighty blow which forced the janissary to let go of his prize, and throwing ourselves upon my booty, we ate both the chicken and the rice, so that not a grain was left. This caused commotion and glances that reached even to the pasha, who found this scene so amusing that he threw himself back on his sofa with laughter. Encouraged by so flattering a success, I no longer let go of my spoon, and we ate our meal splendidly and in perfect peace. In the middle of the dinner we were treated to Turkish music, but it made such a noise that we stopped up our ears.

After the meal the pasha returned. Coffee was served, we were sprinkled with rose water, and each of us received a beautiful embroidered handkerchief. I asked the pasha to show me his horses. He refused, saying simply that he feared the eyes and the gaze of Christians, which even unintentionally might cause great harm to the horses, which he loved too much to expose to risk.