"A great deal of noise and a great deal of smoke: _voilà la Constitution_," said the Consul, and he prepared to leave the room. "Stop," said the Bey, "you must not walk, I will send my carriage with you. It is almost the only carriage in Angora," he added, "and I have a compatriot of yours as a coachman; he has been with me three years." CHAPTER XII. The Pacha's carriage—The coachman an Irishman—Christmas day in Angora—The celebrities of the town—A society of thieves—Fire in Sivrisa—The Turks and the Armenians—So-called fanaticism—Ten Pachas in Angora in four years—Cases of litigation—Arrears—The firman of November, 1875—The famine in Angora—Deaths during the famine—The goats died—A Mohammedan divine—The Russian Ambassador and the secret societies—The English newspapers and the Bulgarian atrocities—A Turk values his nose quite as much as a Christian—Suleiman Effendi's wife—The Turkish law about property—A dinner with a Turkish gentleman—A mixture of nationalities—My host and his digestion—Spirits refresh the stomach—The Prophet and the old woman in Mecca—There are no old women in heaven. The Pacha's carriage was a funny-looking old vehicle. It gave me the idea of a broken-down four-wheeler, which had been taken to pieces and converted into an Irish car. There were no springs. My bones were nearly dislocated as we drove down the main street, to the Consul's house. The coachman turned out to be not an Englishman, but an Irishman. He had lost all signs of the native drollery. Four years spent in Turkey seemed to have taken the life out of him. He had been sent home to Ireland during the previous summer, to buy some carriage-horses for his master. On returning with his purchases, a storm arose in the Bay of Biscay. The captain of the vessel had been obliged to order the crew to throw the horses overboard. This, and the absence of all female society, had weighed upon Paddy's mind. He only brightened up for one moment when the Consul, giving him a glass of whisky, desired him to drink it in honour of Ould Ireland and of Christmas Day. For it was Christmas Day in Angora, and the Consul's good wife was busily engaged in all the mysteries of the _cuisine_. "You are going to dine with us to-night?" said the hospitable gentleman. "Nay, you must," he added. "We are to have a turkey stuffed with chestnuts, and my wife is busy teaching the Turkish servants how to make a plum-pudding. You will also meet some of the celebrities of Angora." At dinner one of the guests—if I remember right, an Armenian—did not seem to share the opinions which the Pacha had expressed that morning with reference to the quiet and good order in the city.