The fire was under control—­that is to say, there was only one block of houses left burning, and this had no communication with either Galata or Pera.  But the disaster was a great one.  Over fifteen hundred houses had been burnt.  The exact number was never known.  First because nobody counted them—­that would have been quite contrary to oriental indifference and fatalism—­and then because it would have been excessively difficult to make them out, in the confused ash heap which had taken their place.  The number of families reduced to destitution must have been very considerable, but individual charity is very liberal amongst the Mussulmans, as indeed amongst all people possessed of religious faith.  I got home, at one o’clock in the morning, worn out.  Shortly afterwards the wind rose.  If it had begun to blow a little earlier, nothing would have remained of Pera, of the Frankish town, nor of the Embassies.

A very few days had gone by when I was bidden to quite a different sort of entertainment.  After the disease of adopting the Gentile’s trousers and frock-coat, yet another disease seized upon Turkey—­that of having a constitution in imitation of the constitutions in vogue amongst the Giaours, and the Sultan had the kindness to ask me to see one proclaimed.  Concerning the constitution itself, which bore the altogether Turkish name of “Hatti Schereef de Gulhane,” I will say nothing.  First of all because I never read it, and secondly because I have been told it was “liberal,” that is to say, fitted, like M. Prudhomme’s sword, to organize government, and if necessary to destroy it, this last more frequently—­and that is quite enough for me.  But the proclamation ceremony was likely to be curious.  So on the appointed day I started forth in full uniform, to be present at it.  It was to take place within the Seraglio.  The first incident in the day was that my boat met the Russian Minister’s caique at the landing-stage, and as neither of our coxswains would yield to the other there was an awful bump, which damaged the dignity of our attitudes by knocking us down like card houses.  Then we had to ride rather frisky horses in Turkish saddles, and this, what with our cocked hats, dangling swords, and unstrapped trousers, was yet another trial to the dignity of some of my sailor comrades.  Nevertheless, we got without hindrance to a kiosk, the upper story of which was to be occupied by the Sultan and his harem, and the lower by the diplomatic corps.  A special window had been reserved for me.  Bands began to play, loud shouts were heard.  The Sultan was coming, on horseback, preceded by a crowd of officers and pashas, in full dress.  Between him and them, dressed in a sort of blue blouse with epaulettes, hobbled a little lame man with a big red head, a white beard, and a spiteful-looking face.  It was Kosrew Pasha, the Grand Vizier, he who had caused so many heads to fall, the strangler of the Sheik el Islam.  He bowed low several times