itted into the council of the Divan, and their chief,
Behram, often took counsel with the Sultan for hours together when he
was alone.

On the 23d May, 1826, at the invitation of the chief mufti, all the
Ulemas assembled in the Seraglio and decided unanimously that, in
accordance with the words of the Kuran, it was lawful to fight the
enemy with his own weapons.

Six days later they reassembled, and then the Sheik-ul-Islam laid
before them a fetva, by which it was proclaimed that a standing army
was to be raised for the defence of the realm. In order, however, that
nobody might pronounce the accursed name of Neshandchi, three names
were given to the corps of the army to be raised. The first was
akinji, or "rushers," these were the young conscripts; the second was
taalimlueaske, "practised men," these were selected from the soldiers
of the Seraglio; the third name was khankiar begerdi, and designated
the corps to be chosen from amongst the Janissaries. This name meant
"the will of the emperor," yet the word "khankiar" means, in Turkish,
by itself, "effusion of blood."

When the fetva came to be signed, very few of the leaders of the
Janissaries were present, but amongst those who were was the Janissary
Aga, or colonel, and his name stood there alongside the name of the
Sheik-ul-Islam, the Grand Vizier, and Najib Effendi.

Early next morning the people of Stambul read the fetva, which was
posted up at every corner. The decisive word had been spoken which was
to evoke the bloody spectre to whom so many crowned heads had been
sacrificed.

The first day a fearful expectation prevailed. Every one awaited the
tempest, and prepared for it. The Sultan was passing the time at his
summer palace, Bekshishtash, so, at least, it was said. An anxious,
tormenting, and bloody pastime it proved to be.

In one wing of his palace were the damsels of the harem, in the others
the chief Ulemas and councillors. Mahmoud paced from one room to
another, and found peace nowhere.

Hundreds of times he sat in a row with his wise men, and caused the
annals of the Ottoman Empire by his favorite historian, Ezaad Effendi,
to be read aloud to him, and yet it was a terror to him to listen. The
whole history from beginning to end was written in blood! The same
principles always produced the same fruits! How many Grand Viziers,
how many Padishahs, had not fallen? Their blood had flowed in streams
from the throne, which had never tottered as it now