The Sultan gave me an uninteresting audience in the pretty Top-Kapou Palace—­now burnt down, I believe—­which stood on the extreme end of the Seraglio point.  I had visited the palace, which was then unoccupied, with a very witty Pasha who spoke French admirably well—­and whom I had known in Paris—­Namick Pasha, commander of the Imperial Guard.  We had gone over all the rooms in the harem, and this visit, with the explanations and commentaries given me by such a guide, had been most interesting.  One room was a perfect gem, and I cannot resist the pleasure of describing it.  It was very large, circular, the floor covered with very fine matting.  All round it was a little raised platform, covered with divans.  The walls were entirely formed of great mirrors, in splendid rococo frames of carved wood, gilt.  It was evidently the room in which the harem festivals were held.  Between the mirrors were eight little doors, every one leading to a small apartment for one woman, fitted with mirrors and divans and each hung with a different stuff.  To complete the whole thing, there was a passage leading to a bath-house, consisting of several very pretty marble bath-rooms.  The master of all this must have had a good time!  All sorts of details were given me while I was there.  The Sultan had no legitimate wives except those who bear children—­so the competition may be imagined.  Mahmoud had had thirty-five children, but only five were left, two sons and three daughters.  The rest had died in infancy.  The actual Sultan, Abdul-Medjid, who was very young at the time of my visit, had only one wife with child, but his mother, the Sultana Valide, had just presented him with six young ladies, said to be charming, as an encouragement.  Besides this, every year, at the Feast of Bairam, the Sheik el Islam gives the Sultan a beautiful slave to whom he is compelled by the Law and the Prophet to give proofs of his affection, that very day, on pain of incurring the wrath of Allah.  Only nobody knows whether Allah, up in his celestial home, has reason to be pleased or not.

Having still a few spare days before I rejoined the squadron, I took advantage of an Austrian steamer to cross the Black Sea as far as Trebizond, whence I gazed admiringly on the splendid chain of the snowy Caucasian peaks.  I should much have liked to get as far as Erzeroum, in the heart of Asia Minor.  But as time failed me I contented myself with travelling at full speed for one day, along the road leading thither, with the Tartar or postman who carried the mails, so as to obtain some idea of the country.  When I say road I speak figuratively.  It was not even a path.  It was a mere track across the woods and rocks and ravines of that mountainous region, but along that track the Tartar galloped imperturbably, never stopping however terrible the ground might be.  When the post-carrying experience was over, my comrades and I were more done up than we had ever been in our lives.  The least weary of the party was the son