Abdul Aziz, who succeeded his brother and reigned for fifteen years, was physically one of the finest of his race. He was majestic in appearance. His mien was gracious. He was every inch a Sultan. But this was about all that could be said for him. His mind was vacuous. His education had been neglected. He had spent many years in forced seclusion, but had secretly intrigued with the more fanatical party in the State against his brother, and had raised hopes that on coming to the throne he would reverse the measures of reform, such as they were, which his two predecessors had initiated. But he belied these expectations for a time. On his accession he issued a proclamation announcing his intention to follow his two predecessors in the path of reform. He promised to economize the resources of the State and to reduce the vast expenditure of the palace. He pensioned off the multitudes of concubines of his brother, and gave out that he meant to content himself with the most modest harem. But these proved to be no more than good intentions, which only paved the way to very opposite measures. Before long his own retinue of women was increased to nine hundred, and the number of eunuchs in his palace to three thousand. His extravagance soon emulated that of his brother. His reign was one of external peace, which afforded full opportunity for giving effect to the reforms promised by his brother and registered by the treaty of Paris. Nothing was ever done. The firman proved to be a dead letter. His ministers cared no more than himself for reforms. Successive British Ambassadors made no serious efforts in this direction. Indeed, they were precluded by the treaty of Paris from any exclusive pressure on the Porte, without the support of all the other Powers.