conversationist. She has memories of Napoleon at St. Helena, where she resided for several years; anecdotes, piquantes and political—those well-worded and softly-articulated compliments which seat you upon velvet; and, above all, that air of genuine laissez aller insouciance which no woman save a Parisian ever thoroughly acquires. I am indebted to the elegant hospitality of this lady for many of the most pleasant hours that I spent in the Frank circle at Pera.
M. de Boutenieff, the Russian minister, has a face which, for the first five minutes, baffles you by its contradictory expression—there is a character of benevolence and gentleness about the forehead and eyes that attracts, while the subtle curve of the lip repulses by its cast of craft and caution—his conversation is easy, courtly, and pleasing; and his unremitted good humour and affability render him universally popular in society. Madame de Boutenieff, who is his second wife, is young, graceful, and lively—an indefatigable dancer, and a fascinating hostess; and, moreover, the niece of Nesselrode.
The soirées dansantes at the Russian palace terminated with a masked ball, which worthily wound up the Carnival, and was sustained with great spirit. The fair hostess herself, with two ladies attached to the legation, and the wife of the French chancellor, personated angels, who were led into the ball-room by a parti carré of devils, embodied by four of the Russian secretaries. Some of our politicians will assuredly smile at the conceit, nor can I forebear to admit the propriety of the fancy; for truly, when I consider the number of attachés to the Russian Legation, as compared with that of the other powers at this court, I am inclined to allow that “their name is legion.”
Even in a ball-room the Russian supremacy is palpably evident—their number, their political power, their never-ceasing efforts at popularity—cannot be forgotten for a moment. There is diplomacy in every action—in every look—in every tone—and withal a self-gratulatory, quiet species of at-home-ness every where and with everybody, which shews you at once that they are quite at ease, at least, for the present.
Exquisite, in the most wide acceptation of the term, in their costume—affectedly refined and aristocratic in their manners—acharnés pour la danse—“passant la moitié de leur temps à rien faire, et l’autre moitié à faire des riens,” the attachés of M. de Boutenieff, upwards of thirty in number, are as busily employed in turning heads and winning hearts, as though the great stake which they came here to play were but the secondary object of their mission.
Count Königsmark, the Prussian minister, is a high-bred and accomplished gentleman: distinguished by that calm and graceful tenue that sits so well on men of rank, and which is the most becoming attribute alike of mental and of social aristocracy.
The Sardinian Chargé d’Affaires, General Montiglio, is of very retiring habits, and mixes little in general society; but he is a person of considerable acquirements, and an indefatigable sportsman. His domestic history is a little romance, and may serve to account in a great measure for his love of retirement, and the hermit-like seclusion of his wife. Having made a mariage d’inclination which was considered by the Sardinian court to be incompatible with his rank and position in society, he was sent into honourable exile to Smyrna, as Chargé d’Affaires, whence he was a short time since removed to Constantinople; where, as I before remarked, he is rarely met with amid the Perote crowd that fills the ambassadorial ball-rooms.
The other foreign ministers play a comparatively insignificant rôle in society; as, since the destruction of the several diplomatic residences in the great fire, they have been compelled to inhabit houses which are not calculated for reception; and it would appear as though they are likely to be long situated thus: the only palace in process of restoration being that of Russia. Here again is asserted the autocracy of the North—the English palace is in ruins, and parasites are wreathing, like emerald-coloured snakes, about its tottering walls—Holland, France, all save Austria, are
“Driven from their parch’d and blacken’d halls.”
The evil is general—but the remedy has been applied, as yet, only in one instance.
Close the doors of the diplomatic residences, and little more can be said for the European society of Pera; it is about on a par with that of a third-rate provincial town in England. Ennui succeeds to curiosity, and indifference to ennui; and you gladly step into your caïque, or your araba; or, better still, spring into your saddle, to recreate yourself among scenes of beauty and magnificence, and to escape from “the everlasting larum” of “rounded sentences which tend to nothing.”
CHAPTER V.
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