Читать книгу The City of the Sultan (Vol.1&2) - Miss Pardoe - Страница 15

Table of Contents

Character of the Constantinopolitan Greeks—The Greek Colony at the Fanar—Vogoride, Logotheti, and Angiolopolo—Political Sentiment—Chateaubriand at the Duke de Rovigo’s—Biting Criticism—Greek Chambers—“What’s in a Name?”—Custom of Burning Perfumes—The Pastille of the Seraglio—Turkish Cosmetics—Eastern Beauty.

The more I saw of the Greeks, the more curious did I find the study of that page of the great volume of human nature which was there flung back; and, far from sharing in the astonishment of those who almost deem it a miracle that the whole nation has not been swept away, I rather marvel at the state of moral and political thraldom in which they exist. The tolerated citizens of an Empire whose interests, both civil and religious, differ so widely from their own, the Fanariote Greeks nourish in their heart’s core a hatred of their masters as intense as it is enduring, and serve them rather from fear than zeal.

Every Greek is an intuitive diplomatist; nature has endowed him with a keen and subtle spirit—a power to see deeply, and to act promptly—and as their motto is palpable to all who have studied their character—tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis—they are any thing but safe counsellors or firm friends. Each is to be had at a price: and, as several of the most talented among them are in the confidence of the leading members of the Turkish government, it were idle to expatiate on the pernicious consequences of their influence. There are so many spies in the camp—so many breaches in the fortress—and, with the helm of affairs, although not actually in their grasp, at least sufficiently within their reach to enable them occasionally to make the vessel of state policy swerve towards the course whither they would fain direct it, they are no contemptible allies to any foreign power that may need their services. The Turk probably possesses the soundest judgment, but the Greek is more subtle and quick-witted, and dazzles even where he may fail to convince.

Under these circumstances, partially trusted by the Turks, and enriched and employed by other nations—gifted with subtlety, energy of character, and that keenness of perception and quickness of intellect for which they are remarkable—the Greeks would be dangerous, if not fatal enemies to their Moslem masters, had they not, like Achilles, one vulnerable point—they are not true, even to each other. Dissimulation is the atmosphere in which they livejealousy is the food on which they prey—and, while they are urging on the chariot of their own fortunes, they are sure to have some luckless rival impaled upon one of the spokes of its uncertain wheel.

Hence, all those overwhelming revolutions which render the tenure of wealth and honours among them almost as precarious as among the Turks themselves. The tolerance of the Sultan’s government has conceded to them a magistracy and an ecclesiastical power as distinct as though they were a free people and the denizens of a free country; and their shrewd and subtle spirits, trammelled without, become tenfold more bitter in their concentrated struggle for supremacy among themselves. Their circle is limited: their hemisphere will afford space for one luminary only; to aggrandize one, another must be sacrificed; and thus it is a perpetual grappling for ascendency; and public probity and private friendship give way before it.

The Greek colony at the Fanar is the focus of intrigue; each is a spy upon his neighbour—here “Greek meets Greek,” and the “tug of war” is deadly. Patriarchs and archbishops are deposed and exiled—magistrates are displaced and banished, as one or the other party obtain power—until the concentration of hatred atrophises every heart, and the smile upon every lip waits but the opportunity to wither into a sneer.

With the double impulsion of honour and power among their own community, and wealth and influence without, it will be readily understood that a people constituted like the Fanariote Greeks pursue their purpose with a tenacity that blinds them to all less absorbing considerations. Each suffices to himself—he is his own world—and he centres all his energies and exertions upon one point. In this fact exists the weakness of the Greeks—they are too egotistical to be dangerous—they indulge individual selfishness when they should exert themselves for the common benefit of the community—the fruit is perished at the core, and it consequently decays upon the surface—and, while they thus make war upon each other, and fling the brand of jealousy upon the hearths of their own race, they require no exterior force to crush them.

The three most conspicuous individuals now left among the Fanariote Greeks are Vogorede, Logotheti, and Angiolopolo, each of whom is more or less in the confidence of the Porte. The war between these talented and ambitious men is literally a war of wits. The craft is with Vogorede, the energy with Logotheti, and the tenacity of purpose with Angiolopolo. The nature of each individual is written on his countenance—that of Vogorede changes like the hue of the camelion; he is a man whose smile is not mirth, nor approbation, nor enjoyment—his brow is narrow and deeply interlined, less by time than by the workings of his spirit; his eye is cold and quick, but it is the quickness which gives no token of intelligence—the restlessness of suspicion.

The personal attributes of Logotheti are of a different character; his glance is searching and fiery, his features mobile and expressive, and his forehead high and strongly marked; and to these no more striking contrast can be afforded than by the truly magnificent head of Angiolopolo. There is not a vestige of passion, not a trace of anxiety, nor care, nor emotion perceptible; his countenance is calm, benevolent, and beautiful: his brow is singularly smooth for his age, and its character of placidity has continued unchanged throughout a long life of political exertion and excitement; while the white beard, which he wears to the utmost length that is now permitted, (Sultan Mahmoud having lately regulated this important point, and having even curtailed the exuberance of that of one of his ministers with his own Imperial hands!) gives him an air of patriarchal dignity in excellent keeping with his strictly Oriental costume.

Having been for twelve years Chargé d’Affaires at Paris during the reign of Napoleon, he has a memory stored with anecdote; and a vivacity of expression, and an accuracy of detail, which make his portraits life-like, and never fail to point the moral of the tale. He discourses fluently in French, and enters into the most trifling subjects with a relish and gaiety quite wonderful when his age (near seventy) and his pursuits are taken into consideration; and you have not been half an hour in his society before you feel the greatest surprise that the maladie de pays should ever have been sufficiently strong to induce him to solicit his recall from a court whose now time-worn recollections yet retain so bright a hold upon his nature. Angiolopolo has neither the appearance nor the bearing of a veteran politician; and, were you ignorant of his history, you would look upon him as one who had fallen into “the sear and yellow leaf,” without one storm to hasten the decay.

After an existence of political toil, Angiolopolo has ostensibly retired into the calm and quiet of domestic life. I speak, therefore, of him rather as he was a few months back than as he now actually is; though the fire which has been long burning requires time ere it can be thoroughly extinguished, and it is only fair to infer that, after so many years of state service, Angiolopolo will carry with him the same tastes and pursuits to the grave.

Prepossessed by his appearance, I accepted with pleasure an invitation to spend the day with his family, and the more particularly as I was anxious to make the acquaintance of all those individuals who had become matter of local interest.

When I entered, he was seated in the Oriental fashion on a corner of the sofa, with a small writing-stand on a low stool beside him, and leaning his arm upon a chest of polished wood containing papers. He received us with much politeness, and presented me to his wife and daughter, who were nestled under the covering of the tandour, on the other side of the apartment, and who welcomed me in the most cordial manner.

For a time, nothing but the veriest commonplace was uttered by any of the party; but some political allusion having been accidentally made, he expressed himself both disappointed and annoyed at the supineness of the British Government, though he admitted that it had caused him no surprize, as it was not the first occasion on which England, after amusing and deluding the Porte with promises of protection and support, had failed to fulfil her pledges in the hour of need. “As individuals,” he added emphatically, “no one can respect the English more than I do, but as a nation every thinking man throughout the Ottoman Empire has lost faith in them—the trust and confidence which the Turks once placed in the political integrity of Great Britain are at an end for ever.”

As he was an invalid, we dined en famille; and I was struck with the extreme attention and deference that he showed towards his wife; all the other Greeks with whom I had become acquainted being the most indifferent, or, as we style it in Europe, the most fashionable of husbands; nor was I less surprised at the apparent zest with which he entered into the inconsequent conversation that ensued, and the playfulness with which he bandied jest for jest, and piled anecdote on anecdote. One incident that he mentioned I may repeat without indiscretion, as it cannot, after such a lapse of time, affect the individual who is its subject, and whose literary reputation is now too well established to be injured by the old-world histories of the past.

Angiolopolo was one day dining at the table of the Duke de Rovigo, when the work of Chateaubriand on the East became the subject of conversation; the author himself, then a very young man, and but little known in the world of letters, being one of the guests; and, while it was under discussion, the Duke requested of Angiolopolo to give him his opinion on its merits. The Ottoman Chargé d’Affaires, aware that Chateaubriand was present, and not wishing to pronounce a judgment that must be displeasing to him, carelessly replied that he remembered having met with the work some time previously: and thus sought to turn aside the subject, the more particularly as, not being supposed to be aware of the vicinity of the author, he had no apology afforded him on the score of delicacy, should he pronounce an opinion tending to gloss over his real sentiments.

But this indefinite reply did not satisfy the Duke, who expressed his astonishment that a native of the country of which the work treated should feel so little interest in the subject as to retain no memory of its contents. Thus urged, Angiolopolo found himself compelled to declare that he had not only read the book carefully, but still retained the most perfect recollection of many of its passages; and that he had evaded the inquiry simply from a disinclination to speak with severity of a writer, who had permitted himself to describe the domestic manners of a people, of whom he had only been enabled to judge from such specimens as coffee-houses and the like places of vulgar resort had offered to his observation.

That he should form erroneous opinions of the mass from these low-bred and low-minded portions of the population might be pardoned, as the error of a surface-scanning and light-headed traveller; but that he should put them forth in sober earnestness to mislead wiser men, who did not possess the opportunity of forming a more correct judgment for themselves, was a graver and a more reprehensible fault, and one which no native of the East could easily forgive. Had he been honest, he would frankly have acknowledged that the doors of the higher classes were reluctantly and rarely opened to the Franks, who required the best introductions to secure an entrance into any distinguished house; both the habits and the position of the Orientals being unfavourable to the curiosity of strangers—and not have libelled a people of whom he really knew as little on his return to Europe as the day on which he landed at Stamboul.

“Chateaubriand has since become a distinguished writer;” he added in conclusion, “but I doubt not that often, amid his success, he has remembered the dinner at the Duke de Rovigo’s, and his inexorable critic.”

In anecdotes of this description, in which his powers of memory and his natural vivacity were equally apparent, the hours passed rapidly away; nor did we retire till near midnight, and even then more as a matter of expediency than of weariness, (for he was far too hospitable to suffer us to leave him until the following day,) and we had consequently full time to enjoy his reminiscences.

I should have previously remarked that the chambers in the Greek houses are generally arranged in the same manner as those of the Turks—that is to say, a pile of mattresses are heaped upon the floor, without a bedstead; but with the Greeks the coverlets are less splendid, and the pillows are less costly. In each, a tray is conspicuously set out with conserves, generally strongly impregnated with perfume, such as rose, bergamotte, and citron: and covered goblets of richly-cut crystal, filled with water. The custom appears singular to an European, but it is by no means unpleasant; and I had not been long in the country ere I found the visit of the servant, who knelt down at my bedside, and handed the tray to me on my awaking, a very agreeable one.

“What’s in a name?” asks Juliet. I confess that to me there is a spell in many; and among the Greeks I did not enjoy my sweetmeats the less that they were handed to me by Euphrosine or Anastasia; or my coffee that the tray was held by Demetrius or Theodosius. This may be folly, but it is not the less fact.

The custom of burning perfumes in the mangal is, if not a healthy, at least a very luxurious one; and the atmosphere of the saloon of Angiolopolo was heavy with ambergris and musk. I have not yet met with a native of the East, of either sex, who was not strongly attached to their use; their own perfumes are delicate and agreeable, being rather concentrated preparations, than individual scents; and soothing, rather than exciting, the nerves; but they are also very partial to those of Europe, and among the latest presents of the Empress of Russia to the Princess Asmé, the Sultan’s eldest sister, were several cases of Eau de Cologne.

The pastille of the seraglio, of which a large quantity has been presented to me by different Turkish and Armenian gentlemen, is a delightful invention; and looks, moreover, in its casing of gold leaf, extremely elegant; as it is somewhat costly, it is not in common use, but it is greatly prized in the harems.

Perhaps no country exceeds Turkey in the variety and value of its cosmetics; and, although there are no daily prints to advertise their virtues, no ingenious puffs to expatiate on their properties, the ladies are by no means ignorant of their existence, but employ them in all their varieties; from the dye with which they darken their eyebrows, to the henna that disfigures the extremities of their fingers.

Among the fair Greeks, the use of rouge is by no means uncommon; and they also carry to a greater extreme than the Turkish women the frightful custom of joining the eyebrows artificially across the nose, by which mistaken habit I have seen many a really pretty face terribly disfigured. I am, however, bound to confess that the dearth of beauty among the Greek ladies is very striking; their expression is good, but their features are irregular, and ill-assorted; and, were it not that they have almost universally fine, sparkling, dark eyes, they would be, taking them collectively, a decidedly plain race.

I looked in vain for the noble, calm, and peculiar outline which we are prone to believe must characterize the whole people; for the finely-poised head, the expansive brow, the drooping eyelid, and, above all, the straight nose and short upper lip of genuine Grecian beauty; I met with it only in one instance, but that one was a breathing model of the beautiful and classical in nature.

The Greek ladies are bad figures, are by no means gifted either as to hands or feet, walk ungracefully, and are remarkable only, as I have already stated, for their bright eyes, and their dark, lustrous hair.

The men are a much finer race, or rather there are more individuals among them who have the distinguished outline of head which one looks to meet with in their nation; but the females have neither the sweet, sleepy, fascinating expression of the Turkish beauties, nor the pure, fresh, sparkling complexion of the Armenian maidens, whose foreheads are frequently as snowy as the veil that binds them, and whose lips and cheeks look like crushed roses.

Not the least lovely among them is the fair girl who, in a spirit of frolic, consented to be presented to an English traveller, (Mr. Auldjo) as a Turkish lady, but whose style of beauty is perfectly dissimilar from that of the nation which she personated; the dark eyes, the henna-tipped fingers, and the costume, which is essentially the same as that of the harem, were, however, quite sufficient to deceive an unpractised eye; and the lively Armenian, to whom I was introduced at my express desire, tells the tale of her successful deceit with a self-complacency and enjoyment perfectly amusing.

Had she more mind, and less enbompoint, an Armenian beauty would be perfect!