Читать книгу The City of the Sultan (Vol.1&2) - Miss Pardoe - Страница 10

Table of Contents

The Greek Carnival—Kassim Pasha—The Marine Barrack—The Admiralty—Palace of the Capitan Pasha—Turkish Ships and Turkish Sailors—More Mistakes—Aqueduct of Justinian—The Seraï—The Arsenal—The “Sweet Waters”—The Fanar—Interior of a Greek House—Courteous Reception—Patriarchal Customs—Greek Ladies at Home—Confectionary and Coffee—A Greek Dinner—Ancient and Modern Greeks—A Few Words on Education—National Politeness—The Great Logotheti Aristarchi—His Politics—Sketch of his Father—His Domestic History—A Greek Breakfast—The Morning after a Ball—Greek Progress towards Civilization—Parallel between the Turk and the Greek.

The Greek Carnival extends three days beyond that of the Europeans; and, such being the case, we gladly accepted an invitation to a ball to be given by a wealthy Cesarean merchant, resident at the Fanar, or Greek quarter of Constantinople; and I embarked in a caïque, with my father, under one of those bright spring suns which make the Bosphorus glitter like a plate of polished steel.

We took boat at Kassim Pasha, in the yard of the marine barrack, an extensive block of building, equally remarkable for its tawdry fresco-painted walls, and demolished windows; and close beside the Admiralty, a gay-looking edifice in the Russian taste, elaborately ornamented throughout its exterior, and adorned with peristyles on three of its sides. The rez-de chaussée contains apartments appropriated to the principal persons of the establishment, and public offices for the transaction of business. The next range are sacred to the Sultan, who occasionally passes a morning at Kassim Pasha, inspecting the progress of the vessels of war now building: and from the windows of his saloons looking down upon the line-of-battle ships in the harbour.

On a height a little in rear of the Admiralty stand the picturesque remains of the palace that was formerly inhabited by the Capitan Pasha; of which two long lines of grated arches still exist nearly perfect, having much the effect of an aqueduct; while a little cluster of towers, crowning the grass-grown acclivity, add a most interesting feature to the ruin.

On all sides of the caïque towered a lordly vessel with its bristling cannon, and painted or gilt stern gallery, lying peacefully at anchor in the land-locked harbour; while the largest frigate in the world was busily preparing for sea as we passed under her bows, and her deck was all alive with men, in their red caps and close blue jackets; but I fear that the blue jackets of England would scarce seek to claim brotherhood with the tars of Turkey, for they have, in sooth, but a “lubberly” look with them; and it is commonly remarked that the Sultan has some of the finest vessels in the world, and some of the worst sailors.

As this was the first day of unclouded sunshine on which I had crossed the port, I looked around me in order to discover the “gilded domes" of which a modern traveller has spoken; but, alas!—the truth must be told—not a mosque in Stamboul has a gilded dome; and the only approach to such a gorgeous object that I could discover were the gilded spires of the minarets of Sultan Mahmoud’s mosque at Topphannè; but, en revanche, the eye lingered long on the ruin of Justinian’s aqueduct, which rises hoar and dark above the clustering houses of the city, spanning the two hills against which it rests, as with the grasp of centuries—upon the glittering pinnacles of the Seraï, flashing out amid the tall cypresses that hem them in; and on the elegant, but nearly untenanted, Seraglio itself, which stands upon the very edge of the lake-like sea, mirrored in the clear waters.

But these were soon left behind; and, as our sturdy rowers rapidly impelled us forward, we traced on our right hand the extensive outbuildings of the Arsenal, which bound the shore to the very extremity of the port, and only terminate at the point of the “Sweet Waters,” where a lovely river empties itself into the harbour, and gives its name to the locality.

In ten minutes, we were at the Fanar, and landed on a wooden terrace washed by the waters of the port; and in five more we had passed into the garden to which it belonged, and thence into the house of the hospitable family who had offered us a home for the night.

Having traversed an extensive hall paved with stone, whence three flights of marble stairs gave admittance into different parts of the mansion, we passed through a long gallery, and entered the apartment in which the ladies of the family were awaiting our arrival. No chilling salutation of measured courtesy—no high-bred manifestation of “exclusive” indifference, greeted the foreign strangers; but each in turn approached us with extended hand, and offered the kiss of welcome; and in less than a quarter of an hour we were all laughing and chatting as gaily in French, as though we had been the acquaintance of years.

No where do you feel yourself more thoroughly at home at once than among the inhabitants of the East; they may be what we are accustomed to call them—semi-barbarians—but, if such be the case, never was the aphorism of a celebrated female writer more thoroughly exemplified that “extreme politeness comes next to extreme simplicity of manners.” Any privation that you may suffer in a Turkish or Greek house, beyond those consequent on the habits of the country, must be gratuitous, as the natives place a firm reliance on your asking for all that you require or wish; and they are so far from being obliged to you for a contrary mode of action, that you cannot more seriously offend than by giving them cause to suspect, after your departure, that you have been inconvenienced during your residence in their families.

The room in which we were received was of considerable extent, and surrounded on three sides by a sofa, like those in the Turkish houses, which were in fact copied from the Greeks; this was covered with a gay patterned chintz, and furnished with cushions of cut velvet of a rich deep blue; nor was the comfortable tandour wanting; and, when I had laid aside my cloak, shawl, and bonnet, and exchanged my walking shoes for slippers, I crept under the wadded coverings as gladly as any Greek among them; and, having surrounded ourselves with cushions, we all sat in luxurious idleness, speculating on the forthcoming ball, and relating anecdotes of those which were past.

Nothing can be more patriarchal than the domestic economy of a Greek family: that in which we were guests comprised three generations; and the respect and obedience shown by the younger branches to their venerable relatives were at once beautiful and affecting. The aged grandmother, a noble remain of former beauty, with a profile which a sculptor must still have loved to look upon, so perfectly was its outline preserved—wore her grey hair braided back from her forehead, and a dark shawl wound about her head—a long pelisse of brown cloth lined with rich fur, with wide sleeves, and an under-jacket of crimson merinos, doubled with marten-skin—her daughter, the mistress of the house, and the mother of twelve children, reminded me strongly of a Jewess, with her large, dark, flashing eyes, and high aquiline nose: her wide brow was cinctured with a costly Persian scarf; and during the day she three times changed the magnificent cachemere in which she was enveloped. The younger ladies wore turbans of gauze wreathed with flowers, very similar to those which are in use among our matrons for evening dress; their dark, luxuriant, glossy hair being almost entirely hidden; and furred pelisses that reached from the throat mid-way to the knee, whence the full petticoat of merinos, or chaly, fell in large folds to their feet.

As soon as we were comfortably established round the tandour, a servant brought in a tray on which were arranged a large cut glass vase, filled with a delicate preserve slightly impregnated with attar de rose, a range of crystal goblets of water, and a silver boat, whose oars were gilt tea-spoons. One of these the lady of the house immersed in the preserve, and offered to me; after which she replaced the spoon in the boat, and I then accepted a draught of water presented by the same hospitable hand; the whole ceremony was next gone through with my father; and, the tray being dismissed, a second servant entered with coffee, served in little porcelain cups of divers patterns, without saucers, but deposited in stands of fillagreed silver, shaped nearly like the egg-cups of Europe.

After this, we were left to our charcoal and cushions until six o’clock; save that my father smoked a costly pipe with a mouthpiece of the colour and almost of the bulk of a lemon, in company of our host, a tall, majestic-looking man, upwards of six feet in height, whose black calpac differed from those of the Armenians in its superiority of size and globular form, and whose furred garments, heaped one above another, seemed to me, shivering as I had lately been under a sharp spring breeze on the water, the very embodiment of comfort.

A Greek dinner is a most elaborate business; rendered still more lengthy by the fact that the knives, forks, and other appliances which European example has introduced, are as yet rather hindrances than auxiliaries to most of those who have adopted them.

When we had taken our places at table, I looked around me with considerable interest—we were truly a large party—all the junior members of the family, who had been throughout the morning “on household cares intent,” were gathered around the board; and such a circle of bright black eyes I never beheld before in my life!

The very aspect of the repast was appetissant—the portly tureen of rice soup was surrounded by every tentative to appetite that can be enumerated; pickled anchovies, shred cheese, dried sausage divided into minute portions, pickles of every description, salt tunny-fish, looking like condensed rose leaves, and Adrianople tongues sliced to the thinness of wafers. The sparkling Greek wines were laughing in light among dishes upheaped with luscious confectionary—Sciote pastry—red mullet, blushing through the garlanded parsley among which they were imbedded, and pyramids of pillauf slightly tinged with the juice of the tomato. More substantial dishes were rapidly handed round by servants, and a delicious dessert crowned the hospitable meal, at whose termination we hurried to our several apartments, and were soon immersed in all the mysteries of the toilet.

The house of the merchant by whom the ball was to be given, and whose name was Kachishesh Oglou, signifying “Son of the Hermit,” was next door to that in which we were already guests; and the cheerful music of the Wallachian band gave earnest of its commencement long ere we were ready to augment the festive crowd: and a crowd it truly was, a perfect social kaleidoscope; for the variety of costumes and colours in constant motion formed a gay and characteristic piece of human mosaic. There were the venerable men whose hair and beards had grown gray with age, and who had scorned to put off the garb of their fathers; the dark globular calpac and the graceful pelisse—the tiers étât of fashion, in their semi-European dress, the ill-cut frock-coat, and the scarlet fèz, drawn down to their very eyebrows—and the young, travelled beaux, in their pride of superior knowledge and tenue, gloved and chausséd with a neatness and precision worthy of the school in which they had studied.

Among the ladies, the same graduated scale of fashion was perceptible: the elder matrons wore the dark head-dress and unbecoming vest of by-gone years, half concealed by the warm wrapping pelisse—the next in age had mingled the Greek and European costumes into one heterogeneous mass, each heightening and widening the absurdity of the other; and had overlaid the inconsistent medley with a profusion of diamonds absolutely dazzling; while the younger ladies presented precisely the same appearance as the belles of a third rate country town in England: their petticoats too short, their heads too high, their sleeves too elaborate, and their whole persons over-dressed.

I have already remarked on the fondness of the Greek ladies for gay colours; a taste peculiarly, and almost painfully, apparent in a ball-room: such bright blues, deep pinks, and glowing scarlets I never before saw collected together; and this glaring taste extends even to their jewels, which they mix in the most extraordinary manner; their only care being to heap upon their persons every ornament that they can contrive to wear.

I cannot, however, record even this inconsequent criticism without a feeling of self-reproach, when I remember the kindliness of heart, and frankness of welcome, with which I was received among them. No curious impertinence taught me that I was felt to be a stranger; on the contrary, I was greeted with smiles on every side; each had something kind and complimentary to address to me; and in ten minutes I had been presented to every individual in the room whose acquaintance I could desire to make. Nor must I pass over without remark the progress of education among these amiable women; two-thirds of the younger ones speak French, many of them even fluently—several were conversant with English, and still more with Italian; while a knowledge of the ancient Greek is the basis of their education, and is consequently almost general. A taste for music is also rapidly obtaining; and time and greater facilities are alone wanting to lend the polish of high-breeding and high education to the Greek ladies: the material is there—they already possess intellect, quickness of perception, and a strong desire for instruction; and, even eminently superior as they already are to the Turkish and Armenian females, they are so conscious of their deficiencies both of education and opportunity, that, were these once secured to them, they would probably be inferior to no women in the world as regards mental acquirements.

I pass by the heavy-looking, but, nevertheless, handsome, son of the Prince of Samos, the minister of Moldavia—a group of Mickialis, Manolakis, Lorenzis, Arcolopolos, &c., &c., &c., all dark-eyed and mustachioed—to particularize an individual who must ever be an object of great interest to all who are conversant with Eastern politics—I allude to Nicholas Aristarchi—Great Logotheti, or head of the clergy, and representative of the Greek nation in the Synod—the Aristarchi, who is accused by his enemies of having brought about the treaty of Unkiar Skelessi—of having caused Achmet Pasha to counsel the Sultan to cede some of his finest provinces to the Russians, in virtue of the convention of St. Petersburg; and, to crown all, of being in the receipt of a considerable pension, granted to him, in consideration of his services, by the Emperor Nicholas.

Be all this as it may—and be it remembered that each of these assertions is totally discredited by a numerous party, who have taken a very different view of the political career of Logotheti, and who find a complete refutation of these charges against him, in the perilous situation of the Sultan when Mahomet Ali marched upon Qutayah—Mahmoud was without fleet or army—threatened by his people—abandoned by his friends—deserted by his allies—and reduced to the bare question of self-preservation. In this strait, uncounselled, unadvised, even unsuspected of such an intention, he personally invited the Russian fleet to protect him against his own subjects, nor did he abandon his purpose at the remonstrance of his own ministers, and those of the foreign powers.

During the succeeding four years, the Ottoman Government have persisted in the same views, as if in conviction of their efficacy; and it is scarcely probable that a solitary individual, and that individual, moreover, a Greek raïah, could possess sufficient power to regulate the movements of a despotic government; while it is certain that Aristarchi is still in the confidence of the Turkish ministry, and is more or less interwoven in the intricate web of her political existence.

Many of those who have been the most violent against him have forgotten, or perhaps have never known, that he is the son of that Aristarchi who was sacrificed because he was too true to the cause which he had espoused. Aristarchi was the last Greek Dragoman to the Porte, and the confidant of Halet Effendi; and, on the insurrection of his countrymen, he continued faithful to the interests of the Sultan, and steadily pursued the straight and manly line of policy which had induced him to support the views of England against those of Russia; but he was abandoned in his need by the power that he had, in his days of influence, exerted his best energies to serve. England changed her policy, and Aristarchi, abandoned to the tender mercies of the arch-traitor, Halet Effendi, was exiled to Boloo, under a promise of recall; but he ultimately lost his life, which no powerful hand was outstretched to save, simply because Aristarchi was the only individual whose personal and acquired rank rendered him eligible to fill the exalted station of Prince of Wallachia; and that he was unhappily the confidant of the treacherous intrigues of his patron, which that patron well knew that he possessed the power to disclose. Thus, forgotten on one hand, and betrayed on the other, he fell a sacrifice to the misgivings of Halet Effendi, who supplied his place with one less versed in the intricacies of his own subtle policy.

Logotheti saw his father cut to pieces before his eyes—murdered by the emissaries of those whom he had served with honour and fidelity—he beheld his mother put forth, with her seven helpless daughters, from the home that had so long been her’s—he stood between his two young brothers, orphaned and beggared by the same stroke—he saw the possessions which should have been his own pass into the hands of strangers—and he knew and felt that on his individual exertions depended the comforts, the fortunes, the very existence, of those helpless and homeless beings.

I shall pursue the subject no farther for obvious reasons, suffice it that Nicholas Aristarchi, Great Logotheti and Chargé d’Affaires for Wallachia, was to me an object of surpassing interest: I had heard so much of him—I had imagined so much—and I had been so deeply affected by his domestic history—that I was anxious to see a man who had suffered so fearfully, who had struggled so manfully, and who had grappled with fortune until he saw it at his feet; and whose individual influence had sufficed to depose two Patriarchs, and to seat two others on the throne of the Greek church.

Nor did I, when I first met him, know the tendency of his politics; I was desirous only to make the acquaintance of a man who had become an object of great interest to me from the description and narration of an individual whom he had essentially served, and who had succeeded in awakening in my mind a wish to see and converse with him. My business was with the man; with the politician I had nothing to do. I thought only of the Aristarchi, who had saved and supported a ruined mother and a beggared family; I cared not for the Dragoman, who had assisted at treaties, and passed his youth among the intrigues of cabinets. His domestic history was a little romance; my feelings of sympathy had been excited by the manner in which it was related to me; and I rejoiced in the opportunity of becoming known to him.

Logotheti was one of the first persons presented to me; and I instantly felt that, had I encountered him in a crowd, I could not have passed him by without remark. He is about five and thirty, of the middle size, and there is mind in every line of his expressive countenance—his brow is high and ample, with the rich brown hair receding from it, as if fully to reveal its intellectual character; his bright and restless eyes appear almost to flash fire during his moments of excitement, but in those of repose their characteristic is extreme softness; his nose is a perfect aquiline, and his moustache partially conceals a set of the whitest teeth I ever saw. As he stood conversing with me, I remarked that he constantly amused himself by toying with his beard, which he wears pointed, and of which he is evidently vain. His voice is extremely agreeable, his delivery emphatic, and he speaks French fluently.

After a few moments of conversation, he introduced me to his wife, his mother, and his sisters, all of whom greeted me with the greatest kindness; and in a few more, my hand was in his, and we were threading the mazes of a cotillon. I was much amused by the officiousness of his attendants; his pipe-bearer, whose tube (not staff) of office was of the most costly description, approached him every five minutes with the tempting luxury, of which he was, however, much too well-bred to avail himself while conversing with me; although the Greek ladies are accustomed to this social accessory, and many of the elder ones even indulge in it themselves—another handed to him from time to time a clean cambric handkerchief—while a third haunted him like his shadow, and the moment that we paused, either in the dance, or in our walk across the room, placed a couple of chairs for us to seat ourselves. Of this latter arrangement, he availed himself without scruple, and compelled me to do the same; while, as the evolutions of the figure constantly caused me to rise, he invariably stood leaning over the back of my empty chair, until I was again seated, ere he would resume his own.

As he persisted in dancing with me nearly the whole of the evening, and talking to me during the remainder, I soon became much interested in his conversation, and it was with sincere pleasure that I heard him promise that he would get up an extempore ball for us the following night. The news soon spread through the room, and great were the exertions made to secure invitations, the more particularly as the morrow was the last day of the Carnival; and, at half past four in the morning, after having received an invitation to breakfast with Madame Logotheti, we made our parting bow to our very handsome hostess and her hospitable husband, and hastened to secure a little rest, to enable us to contend with the fatigues of the forthcoming evening.

A Greek breakfast differs little from a Greek dinner: there are the same sparkling wines, the same goodly tureen of soup, the same meats, and confectionary, and friandises; but, in addition to these, there is the snowy kaimack, or clotted cream, and the bubbling urn.

I know not whether others have made the same remark, but I have frequently observed that the breakfast after a ball, where the party is an agreeable one, is a most delightful repast. The excitement of the previous night has not entirely subsided—the “sayings and doings” of “ladies bright and cavaliers” afford a gay and unfailing topic—and all goes “merry as a marriage bell.” Certain it is, that in this instance my theory is borne out by the result; for, on the termination of the meal, the family insisted on our remaining with them during our stay at the Fanar. Servants were accordingly despatched for our bandboxes and dressing-cases, and we established ourselves comfortably round the tandour until dinner-time.

As the house which Logotheti occupied during the winter months was merely hired,1 and, although extremely handsome and spacious, was greatly inferior in magnificence to his residence on the Bosphorus, he did not consider it expedient to give the ball himself, lest he should offend many whom he had neither time nor space to invite; but requested one of his friends, Hage Aneste, or Aneste the Pilgrim, a Primate of the Greek church and a near neighbour, to open his house in the evening, and the arrangement was completed at once.

If I had been pleased with Logotheti in the heat and hurry of a ball room, I was infinitely more delighted with him in the bosom of his family. His gentle and courtly manners, and his unaffected and fluent conversation, rendered him a charming companion; and the hours flew so swiftly in his society, and that of his amiable family, that dinner was announced before the morning had appeared to be half spent.

At half past nine, we were in the ball-room, which I entered on the arm of Logotheti, and I was considerably startled during our progress up stairs by the manner of his reception. Our host and hostess met us on the first landing-place, where they bent down and kissed the hem of his garment, despite his efforts to prevent this truly Oriental salutation. Their example was followed by all those who made way for us; and, as he led me through the noble saloon in which we were to dance, and seated me in the centre of the sofa, at the upper end of a drawing-room that opened into it, every one rose, and continued standing until he had taken possession of a chair.

Coffee having been handed round, Logotheti conducted me back into the saloon, where we opened the ball with a Polonaise; after which, quadrilles, waltzes, cotillons, and mazurkas, followed each other in rapid succession; and, after having been introduced to more persons than I could possibly recognise should I ever meet them again, and dancing until near six o’clock in the morning, I walked another Polonaise with our agreeable host, and quitted the ball-room with more regret than I ever experienced on a similar occasion.

We remained the morrow at the Fanar, and I carried away with me no memories save those of kindness and courtesy. Seldom, very seldom indeed, have I passed three days of such unalloyed gratification as those for which I am indebted to Logotheti and his friends.

No circumstance impressed me more strongly during this very agreeable visit, than the rapid strides which the Constantinopolitan Greeks are making towards civilization. The Turks have a thousand old and cherished superstitions that tend to clog the chariot wheels of social progression, and which it will require time to rend away; the Armenians, who consider their Moslem masters as the ne plus ultra of human perfection, are yet further removed from improvement than the Turks; while the Greeks, lively and quick-minded, seize, as it were by intuition, minute shades of character as well as striking points of manners. Locomotive, physically as well as mentally, they indulge their erratic tastes and propensities by travel; they compare, estimate, and adopt; they pride themselves in their progress; they stand forth, scorning all half measures, as declared converts to European customs; and they fashion their minds as well as their persons, after their admitted models.

The Turk is the more stately, the more haughty, and the more self-centered, of the inhabitants of the East; but in all that relates to social tactics he is very far inferior to the keen, shrewd, calculating, intriguing, Greek.

The Moslem will fix his eye upon a distant and important object, and work steadily onwards until he has attained it; but, meanwhile, the active Greek will have clutched a score of minor advantages, which probably, in the aggregate, are of more than equal weight. It is the collision of mind and matter—the elephant and the fox. Intellectual craft has been the safety-buoy of the Greeks; had they been differently constituted, they would long ere this have been swept from the face of the earth, or have become mere “hewers of wood and drawers of water.” As it is, there is so strong a principle of moral life in this portion of the Greek nation, that, were they only more united among themselves, and less a prey to intestine jealousies and heart-burnings, it is probable that in these times, when Turkey lies stretched like a worsted giant at the mercy of the European powers, the heel of the Greeks might be shod with an iron, heavy enough to press her down beyond all means of resuscitation; in possession, as they are, of the confidence of those in power.

Animal force has subjugated the Greeks—subjugated, but not subdued them; their physical power has departed, but their moral energy remains unimpaired; and it is doubtful whether human means will ever crush it.