"I suppose that is to keep the neighbors from stealing their wives."
But the Horse-Doctor--wiser and more observant--said:
"No, it is to keep a neighbor from breaking in and leaving another."
Standing on the top of Bulgurlu--looking down on the Bosporus and the royal palaces--the wife of a foreign minister told us something of the history that has been written there:
When Abdul Aziz, in 1876, became Abdul "as was"[4] (his veins were opened with a penknife, I believe), one Murad, his nephew, an educated and travelled prince, came into power. But Murad was for progress--bridges and railroads--so Murad retired to Cheragan Palace, where for thirty-two years he sat at a window and looked out on a world in which he had no part, while Abdul Hamid II. reigned in his stead. Murad was wise and gentle, and did not reproach Abdul, who came to him now and again for advice concerning matters of state.
But Murad was fond of watching the people from his window--excursion parties such as ours, and the like--and these in turn used to look up at Murad's window; which things in time came to Abdul Hamid's ears. Then Abdul decided that this indulgence was not good for Murad--nor for the people. Thirty-two years was already too long for that sort of thing. So Murad's face disappeared from the window, and it was given out that he had died--the bulletin did not say what of, but merely mentioned that it had been a "general death"--that is to say, a natural death, under the circumstances--the kind of death a retired Sultan is likely to die. And Abdul mourned for Murad many days, and gave him a costly funeral.
That was Abdul's way. He was always a good brother--always a generous soul--according to a guide-book published in Constantinople during the time when there were twenty thousand secret agents inspecting such things. The author of that book wanted those twenty thousand secret agents to tell Abdul how good and gentle the book said he was; otherwise, the modest and humble Abdul might not remember. Besides, that author did not wish to disappear from among his friends and be sewed up in a sack and dropped into the Bosporus some quiet evening. But I wander-- I always wander.
Abdul Hamid is said to be affectionate with his family--all his family--and quick--very quick--that is to say, impulsive. He is a crack shot, too, and keeps pistols on his dressing-table. One day he saw one of his little sons--or it may have been one of his little daughters (it isn't always easy to tell them apart, when they are so plentiful and dress a good deal alike), but anyway this was a favorite of Abdul's--he saw this child handling one of his pistols, perhaps playfully pointing it in his direction.