Rain and Roses: Constantinople, 1561

Now he is a Muslim. As soon as they had learned enough Turkish to understand about the pillars of Islam and to recite the prayers, the two boys were invited to proclaim the shahada, the fundamental declaration of faith. And it really was an invitation, he reflects: nobody forced them to accept, although it was certainly assumed that they would do so and it was obvious that their future lives would be dramatically different if they did not.

He prefers not to think about the circumcision that happened immediately after the ceremony. They took both boys to the palace surgeon and led them to a corner, where the deed was done without delay. At least the gifts that he received on that day have lasted longer than the pain. He has his own Qur’an, which he uses every day; a fur robe that he will wear in winter; and his favourite, a silver inkstand.

And he has a new name, Gazanfer, the Persian word for ‘lion’. Unusually, this has been personally chosen for him by the sultan, the great Suleiman, on the one occasion that they met. He has been surprised by the level of interest that the sultan shows in the workings of the palace school. They say that Suleiman’s great-grandfather Mehmed, who founded the school, was constantly around the pages while they were studying; apparently he even made rounds of the palace halls by night, in disguise. Although Suleiman does not involve himself to that extent, he can still frequently be seen watching the pages as they work. A few weeks ago, at the end of Ramazan, Suleiman came to the Great Hall to listen to the pages discoursing on philosophy and morals and to watch their sporting competitions. Gazanfer was reminded of the day he went to watch his hero Bernardo deliver an oration at the public academic exercises, and of his own early dreams of being an orator.

A couple of weeks before his conversion, the chief eunuch announced that the sultan had heard about the two new Venetian boys at his court and wished to see them. They were washed, scrubbed, dressed in new kaftans and, after some rapid instructions on how to behave, brought into Suleiman’s presence. They prostrated themselves before the sultan and kissed the hem of his robe, whereupon they were bidden to sit on the bottom step of a great marble staircase and served with sweet treats to eat. The sultan spent some time watching them, apparently both fascinated and highly amused by their manner of eating. He tested their abilities in Turkish before reverting to questioning them through an interpreter about life in what he called ‘his’ Italy; about their ‘noble’ family; and, especially, about their schooling. Their answers appeared to satisfy him, for he remarked that Venetians and Tuscans are clever and obviously well-instructed from an early age.

Suleiman asked him for his Italian name. On hearing that he was called ‘Leonardo’, he turned to his interpreter and spoke privately for a moment, before addressing the boy again.

‘In Venice you bore the name of a lion. You shall be no less noble a beast at my court. From now you are Gazanfer, my lion cub’.

Pleased with his joke, he turned away. The boys were ushered out of his presence; his brother would have to wait a while longer to learn his own new name, which is Cafer.

*****

The palace school consists of two preparatory halls and three vocational halls. Those, like Cafer, who are young enough when they join the school, will start in one of the preparatory halls. Older boys like Gazanfer generally start in the Hall of the Commissary and then progress through the other halls in sequence. The Hall of the Commissary has a large gallery, paved with square marble blocks of different colours. Eight marble pillars support the roof, luxuriously decorated in a deep azure blue with painted flowers in gold. On the far side of the gallery is the main dormitory. A platform, two feet from the ground and eight feet deep, runs the length of the dormitory on each side: this is where the pages sleep, each on a woollen coverlet which he folds into four, leaving part as an extra covering. Over that is a covering of gold or silver brocade; wool would be warmer but would not be a fitting sight for the sultan when he makes one of his surprise appearances in the dormitory to watch the pages while they sleep.

*****

One chilly April morning, Gazanfer wakes in the dormitory an hour before the dawn prayer. There are just a few minutes to go before the officer arrives to rouse the pages, striking a suspended iron plaque with three blows of a hammer.

He has this down to a fine art now. He can sleep through the first call, two hours before dawn; this is the one intended for the unfortunate pages whose duty it is to prepare the halls and the baths. But he is almost always awake by the time of the second call. Only twice in six months has he still been asleep at the third, when the beds of any still-sleeping pages are pulled from under them. This was enough for him although, for anyone who offends repeatedly, there is always the threat of a beating.

He gets up, stretches and moves sleepily to the end of the long chamber, where two doors lead to the fountains, with its seven copper taps; and to the latrines, divided into four small rooms paved with white marble squares. It takes time for more than a hundred young men to complete their toilet and dress, but they are well-schooled and this morning they manage it with ease.

When the gong is struck again, all the pages stand dutifully by their beds for the roll call. Afterwards, he picks up the heavy coverlet on which he has slept, rolls it up, ties it and hangs it on the wall. Finally, he reaches up to a large shelf and pulls down the small wooden chest in which he keeps his possessions and which will serve him as a desk for the day’s studying.

In each hall, the pages are divided into companies of ten, each presided over by a lala, or supervisor. The lala has the unenviable task of keeping order among his pages in the classroom, watching them while they eat and then sleeping alongside them to ensure that they do not indulge in any of the usual pastimes of confined teenage boys. The boys sleep in pairs, back to back – they are forbidden to turn over. He has not yet discovered the joys of masturbation but it seems that Ömer, who sleeps alongside him, has.

The boys await the call of the muezzin while Ömer recites from the Qur’an. Ömer has been chosen for his clear, melodious singing but his voice is already beginning to break; he hopes that his skill will survive the change. As soon as the call comes, the pages – without being told – form themselves into pairs. They drop their heads, cross their hands on their chests and walk slowly and silently to the mosque, keeping a respectful distance away from the sultan’s apartments. Behind the mosque, the pale morning sunshine is gradually lighting up the tall harem wall, revealing hidden details of hollows and fissures in the stonework and catching the latticed windows at sharp angles.

After prayers, Gazanfer leaves the mosque with the others, walking in silence back to the commissary. The pages divide their time between study and service. He will carry on studying Turkish and reading the Qur’an for as long as he stays in the school, but soon he will branch out into Arabic and Persian. Arabic is taught because it provides the key to a deeper understanding of Islam, while Persian is considered to be the highest form of courtly language, helping to improve the students’ vocabulary, eloquence, accent and general nobility of spirit.

Physical training and the art of war are not neglected. He is fit and strong but does not much enjoy competitive games, counting each moment on the field wasted until he can return to the books which are his real passion. Now that his Turkish is good enough, he has progressed to the mulamma – collections of tales written in flowery language, with a wealth of Arabic and Persian words. His favourites are a collection of Turkish folk tales entitled the History of the Forty Viziers and a work called the Thousand and One Nights. The palace has a legendary collection of books and he knows that, as he progresses, his programme of study will be largely a matter of his own choice. Some students, with an eye to their future careers, devote themselves entirely to studying detailed commentaries on the Qur’an. Others study calligraphy, in order to become chancellors or secretaries while, for those whose interests lie in mathematics, astronomy or medicine, there is plenty of material to stimulate the mind. The main concern of the palace school is that the mind should not become idle.

Meanwhile, of course, there is a palace to be run and a sultan whose slightest whim must be attended to. One of the functions of the Hall of the Commissary is to set the sultan’s table. The pages take care of the royal cutlery, all made of gold and silver and studded with precious stones. They also look after the dishes and the plentiful stores of spices, syrups, pickles, fruits confections, medicines and aphrodisiacs. They mix and serve the exquisite sherbets, juleps, nectars and other drinks that are favoured by the sultan.

From the Hall of the Commissary, most pages progress to the Hall of the Treasury, where they maintain the palace’s vast collection of jewels, precious metals, artefacts and royal vestments, as well as the library and the sultan’s petty cash.

The privy chamber is the most prestigious posting. Four of the school’s most favoured pages accompany the sultan everywhere, bearing his royal insignia. They clean his bedchamber, light his fire, make his bed and keep watch in pairs to guard him while he sleeps. Other selected pages look after the sultan’s vestments, carry his food to table, attend him in the bath or accompany him on falconry or hunting trips.

*****

By April, spring has come to the city, bringing a warmth that was absent last week. The palace echoes to the insistent cooing and flapping of pigeons as they build their twig nests on ledges and walls. In the distance, white storks, buzzards, eagles and black kites spiral over the hills, back from their migration to the wintering grounds in Africa. The air is heavy with the scent of roses – not just those grown in the palace gardens but the wild blooms in the rose hedges that are found throughout the city.

Today is a day of work rather than study and Gazanfer has been given a new task. There was light rain during the night; he and Ömer are to visit the gardens to collect rainwater and rose petals, for making the rose water with which the sultan likes to anoint his face. As they start to cross the courtyard, they are stopped by the shrill sound of a whistle, announcing the approach of the sultan or a high-ranking official. The boys experience, rather than see, a sudden movement, like that of cockroaches when the door to a dark cellar is opened suddenly, letting in the morning light. This is the movement of hundreds of pages, who are expected to melt into doorways or stand behind columns as the dignitaries pass by. This time, the two boys are caught out, exposed, like children in a game. They edge towards the nearest wall and stand, like statues, eyes cast down towards their feet. A gaggle of privy chamber pages walk past in attendance upon the sultan, the Light of the World, who is in conversation with a tall, well-proportioned man in his mid-fifties.

However, the boys’ attempts at self-concealment have been insufficient. The sultan stops, mid-sentence and calls across softly, in Turkish, ‘lion cub?’ Gazanfer raises his eyes to see the sultan smiling and beckoning him to approach. He has not yet been taught the appropriate way to respond to a casual outdoor encounter such as this but instinctively he drops to his knees, bows his head and murmurs, ‘My Sultan’.

This must be acceptable: the sky does not fall on his head. The sultan asks, ‘where are you boys going this morning?’ Gazanfer tells him, ‘to collect rain water and rose petals for your magnificence’.

‘Ah, a simple pleasure but one that I dream of on a warm spring day such as this’, says the sultan. He turns to his companion, ‘do you see, Mehmed? This is one of the Venetian boys I was speaking about. He has much to learn but he seems a young man of intelligence and letters. Mark his face.’ The other man lets his gaze linger on Gazanfer for a second; is it his imagination, or is there the slightest of nods? Then the man turns back to his sovereign and the party continues across the courtyard.

When they have gone, Ömer turns to Gazanfer excitedly, ‘canim, my soul, he spoke to you! He knows you! You must be destined for greatness!’ He tries to silence Ömer with a look: he does not want this encounter becoming the talk of the dormitory. Although it seems that, in this place, his companions celebrate each other’s achievements rather than envying them, he still carries the pin pricks that he used to receive from Uccello, the school bully. He replies, ‘our sultan wants rain and rosewater, nothing more.’ Then he changes the subject, ‘tell me, kardeşim, my brother, do you know the man who was with him?’

‘That is Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, the third vizier’, Ömer replies. ‘He is from my country of Bosnia, brought here as a slave, like us. He once worked in the treasury, then he was the sultan’s sword bearer. They say that he was with Suleiman when he had Prince Mustafa strangled. Then he led the sultan’s army against Prince Bayezid. He is a dangerous man to know – especially if you are a son of the sultan.’

The hanging gardens of the third court are afire with tulips and narcissus. The fragrance of jasmine drifts in the breeze, mixed with the subtle gale wafting from the orange grove and the harsher, spicier perfume of the carnation field. They cross to the rose beds and start to work. Within a short time they have a bushel of fat, pink, scented rose heads. Gazanfer dips a jug into a stone cistern and collects enough fresh rainwater to fill the pitchers that they have brought. Leaving their harvest at the commissary, they go to wash their hands, in preparation for the second prayer and the first of the day’s two meals.

The pages’ food is plentiful and filling, but lacks variety. Usually there is boiled mutton with a pottage of rice, mixed with butter and honey. On Thursdays, at the second meal, there is pilav, of which the best he can say is that it relieves the monotony. His mouth only truly waters when he remembers the pastas and sauces of Venice. Behaviour at table is strictly controlled. The pages must sit in silence until their superiors have been served. Then they must eat slowly, with mouths closed. They may not stretch, or yawn, or scratch or look for fleas. Belching or hiccoughing during the meal draws swift punishment; even sneezing, nose blowing and throat clearing must follow the prescribed method.

After the meal, Gazanfer returns to the commissary. As he begins work, the door opens and a page runs in shouting ‘water’. This is the signal from the privy chamber that the sultan is thirsty. In a well-rehearsed manoeuvre, one page fills a golden bowl with water from a large jug and places it carefully on a jewelled tray. Tradition demands that the water must be delivered by no less a person than the head of the commissary, Ali Pasha, in person. Furthermore, Ali Pasha is required to carry the tray above his head; this, however, means that he cannot see where he is going and so two pages have to take him by the arm and guide his footsteps, while four more follow behind. Ali is a short man with bulging eyes and cuts rather a comical figure.

Gazanfer wonders whether, in the midst of all this pomp, the thirsty sultan will get the rain and rosewater about which he had spoken so fondly this morning.

Today, he has been attached to the commissary’s napkin master so he spends the afternoon carefully smoothing the freshly laundered cotton napkins and cloths, folding them into precise squares and storing them carefully in great baskets. As he works, he thinks about the story he has been reading. He pictures the vizier’s daughter, Scheherazade, endlessly telling tales for the king in order to delay her inevitable execution. He wonders how the story will end: will her imagination fail her, or will the king eventually fall in love with her and spare her life? He thinks about Sokollu Mehmed, the vizier: does he have a daughter who must tell tales for Suleiman? These thoughts occupy him until it is time for the second meal, which is exactly the same as the first.

For the rest of the day, he alternates quiet periods reading the Qur’an with sessions of work and prayer. Once the final prayer is over, it is time to sleep. The officer in charge of the dormitory bangs his cane on the floor, the roll is called again and a list of daily marks and punishments is read out.

He lies down on his coverlet, and sleeps.