In Book I of the Seyahatname we read an ‘Account of the humble Evliya’s admission into the imperial Harem of Murat IV, and of some pleasant conversations which he enjoyed with the Sultan in the year AH1046 (AD1635)’. Evliya’s story of his meeting with the Sultan and of the events which followed is one of the most fascinating sections of the Seyahatname. For Evliya became one of Murat’s musahibs, or favourites, and was privileged to observe the palace from within and to know the Sultan intimately as a human being. Evliya’s account of the months which he spent in the Saray thus brings the old palace back to life once again, and peoples it with the ghosts of its departed inhabitants.
Evliya first came to the Sultan’s notice on the sacred night of Kadir in 1635, about four years after his vision of the Prophet. On that evening Evliya was serving as a müezzin in Haghia Sophia and, in the Sultan’s presence, began to recite the entire Koran from memory. This so impressed Murat that he sent two of his aides to fetch Evliya and bring him to his side. Accordingly, they proceeded to the müezzin’s gallery. There, before the eyes of the entire congregation, they placed a golden turban on Evliya’s head and led him by the hand to the Sultan’s loge. Here is Evliya’s account of his first audience with Murat: ‘On beholding the dignified countenance of Sultan Murat, I bowed and kissed the ground. The Emperor received me very graciously, and, after salutations, asked me in how many hours I could repeat the Koran. I said, if it please God, and if I proceed at a rapid pace, I could repeat it in seven hours, but if I do it moderately, without much alternation of voice, I can accomplish it in eight hours. The Sultan then said, “Please God, let him be admitted into the number of my intimate associates in the room of the deceased Musa.” He then gave me two or three handfuls of gold, which altogether amounted to 623 pieces.’
At the conclusion of the service Evliya was escorted to Topkapı Sarayı and was informed that he would become a member of the Inner Service, those who served in the Sultan’s own household. When he arrived at the palace Murat’s attendants greeted him and prepared him for his formal introduction to the Sultan. ‘They invested me with an embroidered robe, put an amber-scented tuft of artificial hair upon my head, and wishing me a thousand blessings told me that I wore the crown of happiness.’ Afterwards two mutes came and led him to the throne-room, where two of Murat’s pages instructed him as to his behaviour in the Sultan’s presence. Then, as Evliya writes, ‘The Emperor made his appearance, like the rising sun, by the door leading to the inner Harem. He saluted the forty pages of the Inner Service and all the musahibs, who returned the salutation with prayers for his prosperity. The Emperor having with great dignity seated himself on one of the thrones, I kissed the ground before him and trembled all over. The next moment, nonetheless, I complimented him with some verses that most fortunately came to my mind.’
And after he had recited these verses, Evliya matched wits with the Sultan and his favourites, recited poetry for them, played upon the tambourine and danced like a dervish before the throne, and then sang a plaintive love song which reduced Murat to tears. When he recovered his composure the Sultan immediately directed that Evliya be admitted into the company of his musahibs. This singular audience ended when the call to prayer was heard, whereupon, as Evliya writes, ‘The Emperor ordering me to assist the müezzin, I flew like a peacock to the top of the staircase and began to exclaim, “Ho, to good works!”’
Shortly afterwards Evliya was enrolled in the Palace School, that admirable institution which trained young men for careers in the various branches of the government and palace service. Something of the quality of life in the Saray at that time can be gathered from Evliya’s description of his fellow pages in the Palace School, within what he called the Abode of Felicity: ‘The privy chambers of the palace were occupied by three thousand pages, beautiful as Joseph, richly attired in shirts fragrant as roses, each having his place in the imperial service, where he was always ready to serve.’
After Evliya had been in the Palace School for some time, he accompanied the Sultan one day to Haghia Sophia, where he was noticed by his former teacher and namesake, the Chief Imam Evliya Efendi. The elder Evliya thereupon approached the Sultan and addressed him thus: ‘My gracious Emperor, this boy, the darling of my heart, has not attended my lectures since the sacred night of Kadir, when you took him to the palace. He has already learned the whole of the Koran according to the seven readings; he is thoroughly acquainted with the Shatebi treatise on that subject, and was beginning the study of the fifteen readings. Allow him to perfect himself in these studies, after which he may return to your majesty’s service.’ Sultan Murat then reprimanded the old imam sternly, saying: ‘Efendi! Do you suppose that our palace is a tavern or a den of robbers? Three thousand pages are there devoted night and day to the study of the sciences, besides attending the general lectures as well as those which your reverence delivers twice a week. He may attend your lectures as before; but I cannot leave him to your disposal, for he is a lively and intelligent youth, and must remain with me as my son.’
And so Evliya did for several months, enjoying the Sultan’s favour and observing those parts of the palace and its life which were open to him. Unfortunately he makes no mention of the Harem, for that was closely guarded by the black eunuchs and forbidden even to the Sultan’s companions. But from what we know of Murat, he cared little for the pleasures of the Harem, preferring the company of his musahibs. Evliya knew this well, and when he entertained the Sultan at his first audience his song was of Murat’s beloved Musa, the favourite who had been murdered by the Janissaries when he first came to the throne. And although Musa had been dead for more than ten years, the Sultan wept when Evliya sang of him that night. ‘I went out to meet my beloved Musa; he tarried and came not/Perhaps I missed him on the way …’ So sang Evliya to the bereaved Murat, and in that way himself became the Sultan’s musahib.
Evliya seems to have been constantly at the Sultan’s side during his tenure as musahib, and gives a detailed description of how Murat spent his days. Here, for example, is his account of the Sultan’s weekly schedule of audiences in the throne-room, from which we learn something about the mind and heart of the man himself.
During the winter he regulated his audiences as follows:
On Friday he assembled all the divines, sheikhs and the readers of the Koran, and with them he disputed till morning on scientific subjects. Saturday morning was devoted to the singers who sang the İlâhi, the Na’t, and other spiritual tunes. Sunday evening was appropriated to poets and reciters of romances. On Monday evening he had the dancing boys and the Egyptian musicians. This assembly sat until daybreak and resembled the musical feast of Hüseyin Bukhara. On Tuesday evenings he received the old experienced men who were upwards of seventy and with them he used to converse in the most familiar manner. On Wednesday he gave audience to the pious saints, and on Thursday to the dervishes. In the mornings he attended to the affairs of the Moslems. In such a manner did he watch over the affairs of the Ottoman states, that not even a bird could fly over them without his knowledge. But were we to describe all his excellent qualities we should fill another volume.
Evliya was also able to watch the Sultan at play, when he revealed another and appealing aspect of his extraordinarily varied nature. Here is Evliya’s description of an amusing encounter he had one day with Murat, in the corridor outside the Sultan’s bath:
One day the Emperor came out covered with perspiration from his hamam near the throne-room, saluted those present and said, ‘Now I have had my bath.’ ‘May it be to your health’, was the general reply. I said, ‘My Emperor, you are now clean and comfortable, do not therefore oil yourself for wrestling today, especially since you have already exercised with others and your strength must be considerably reduced.’ ‘Now, have I no strength left?’ said he. ‘Let us see,’ upon which he seized me like an eagle, raised me over his head and whirled me about as children do a top. I exclaimed, ‘Do not let me fall, my Emperor, hold me fast!’ He said, ‘Hold fast yourself!’ and continued to swing me around, until I cried out, ‘For God’s sake, my Emperor, cease, for I am quite giddy!’ He then began to laugh, released me, and gave me forty-eight pieces of gold for the amusement which I had offered him. The Sultan subsequently stripped himself and wrestled with his Sword-Bearer, Melek Ahmet Ağa, and Musa Ağa, both remarkably stout men, and took them by their belts, lifted them over his head, and flung one of them to the right and the other to the left. It was I who on such occasions read the wrestler’s prayer.
Sultan Murat proved to be a strong and able ruler and checked for a time the decline of the Ottoman Empire, which had begun after the death of Süleyman the Magnificent. He was the first sultan in nearly a century to lead his army into battle and was victorious in several campaigns, climaxed by the capture of Erivan in 1635 and of Baghdad in 1638. Evliya accompanied Murat on the first of these campaigns and was present when the Sultan made his triumphant return to Stamboul, leaving us this spirited account in the Seyahatname:
On the nineteenth of Rejab 1045 the illustrious Emperor made his entry into Constantinople with a splendour and magnificence which no tongue can describe or pen illustrate. The windows and roofs of the houses in every direction were crowded with people, who exclaimed, ‘The blessing of God be upon thee O Conqueror! Welcome Murat! May thy victories be fortunate!’ The Sultan was dressed in steel armour and had a threefold aigrette in his turban, stuck obliquely on one side in the Persian manner. He was mounted on a Noghai steed, followed by seven led horses of the Arab breed, decked out in embroidered trappings set with jewels. Emirguneh, the Khan of the Persians, walked on foot before him, whilst the band with cymbals, flutes, drums and fifes, played the airs of Afrasiab. The Emperor looked with dignity on both sides of him, like a lion who has seized his prey, and saluted his people as he went on, followed by three thousand pages clad in armour. During this triumphal procession to the palace all the ships at Saray Point fired salutes, so that the sea seemed in a blaze. Afterwards the public criers announced that seven days and nights were to be devoted to festivity and rejoicing.
After the Baghdad campaign, the last great triumph of Ottoman arms, Murat retired from the field and spent most of his time in the palace, carousing in the company of his musahibs. During his last years he began to drink heavily and at times behaved like a homicidal maniac, keeping Stamboul in terror from his murderous rages. But even then, according to Evliya, Murat could still be of a jovial disposition, a lover of music, poetry and good fellowship, a brave and just ruler. As Evliya wrote of Murat in the Seyahatname:
I enjoyed the great favour of the Sultan, who relished a joke or a laugh as well as any plain dervish. But although he had the nature of a dervish, he was brave and intelligent. Neither the Ottoman nor any other dynasty of Moslem rulers ever produced a prince so athletic, so well-made, so much feared by his enemies, or so dignified as Sultan Murat. Though so cruel and bloodthirsty, he conversed with rich and poor without any mediator, and made his rounds day and night to be informed of the state of the poor, and to ascertain the price of provisions, for which purpose he often went into cook-shops and dined incognito. But no monarch was ever so guilty of so many violent deeds. The Emperor was also a good poet, and his divan, or collection of odes, ran to three hundred pages, but he died before he could complete it.
Sultan Murat IV died on February 9th in the year 1640, while the Ottoman fleet was preparing for a campaign against Malta. He was then not yet thirty years of age. According to Evliya, in the section entitled An Account of the Death of Sultan Murat:
The standards were already raised preparatory to a new expedition, when the Emperor, enfeebled by sickness, found it impractical to set out. According to the Arabic text: ‘Every one must perish,’ and the Persian verse: ‘If any person could remain forever on earth, Mohammed would have remained; if beauty could secure immortality, Joseph would not have died,’ no one is exempt from destiny. And Sultan Murat being obedient to the call, ‘Return to thy Lord,’ bade farewell to this perishable world and entered on his journey to the everlasting kingdom. The whole of the Moslem kingdom was thrown into the deepest affliction and lamented his loss. Horses hung with black were let loose in the At Meydanı, where his majesty was buried close to his father, Sultan Ahmet … I have since heard from the pearl-shedding lips of my lord, Kara Mustafa, that had God spared Murat but six months longer, the whole of the infidels would have been reduced to the capitation tax.
The only buildings left in Topkapı Sarayı from the days of Sultan Murat IV are two handsome kiosks in the Fourth Court. They are called the Erivan Köşkü and the Bagdad Köşkü, and were built to commemorate the Sultan’s two great victories. The loveliest of the two is the Bagdad Köşkü, which is said to be modelled after a building which he saw in that city after its capture. It is revealing of Murat’s character that he thought the Persian kiosk to be the most splendid he had ever seen, and that he destroyed it and built one exactly like it in his palace. It is perhaps the most beautiful room in the whole Saray, and we can appreciate the pleasure that it must have given to Sultan Murat, in what would be the last year of his short life. We can still imagine Murat there reclining on a divan, surrounded by his musahibs, listening to Evliya Efendi singing a mournful love song. ‘I went out to meet my beloved Musa; he tarried and came not/Perhaps I missed him on the way …’
Reenactment of a Janissary parade