Merchants of Galata—Palaces of Pera—Picturesque style of
Building—The Perotes—Social Subjects—Greeks, European and
Schismatic—Ambassadorial Residences—Entrée of the
Embassies—The Carnival—Soirées Dansantes—The Austrian
Minister—Madame la Baronne—The Russian Minister—Madame de
Boutenieff—The Masked Ball—Russian Supremacy—The Prussian
Plenipotentiary—The Sardinian Chargé d’Affaires—Diplomacy
Unhoused—Society of Pera.
Neither Frank nor Christian is allowed to inhabit the “City of the
Faithful;” and the faubourg of Pera, situated on the opposite side of
the port, is consequently the head-quarters of the _élite_ of European
society. Galata, which skirts the shore of the Bosphorus at the base of
the hill on which Pera is built, numbers among its inhabitants many very
respectable merchants, whose avocations demand their continual presence;
but Pera is the dwelling-place of the beau-monde—the seat of
fashion—the St. James’s of the capital. Here every thing social is _en
magnifique_: the residences attached to the different Legations glory in
the imposing designations of “palaces”—the gloomy _magazins_ of the
Parisian _modistes_ are as dear and as dirty as can be desired—all the
_employés_ of diplomacy throng the narrow, steep, and ill-paved
streets, while the fair Greeks look down upon them from their
bay-windows, projecting far beyond the façade of the building; and the
bright-eyed Armenians peer from their lattices “all-seeing, but unseen.”
The quaintly-coloured houses, looking like tenements of painted
pasteboard, appear as though a touch would make them meet, and are
picturesque beyond description, as they advance and recede, setting all
external order, regularity, and proportion, at defiance.
In my rapid definition of European society, I must not omit to mention
that the Perotes, or natives of Pera, consider themselves as much Franks
as though they had been born and nurtured on the banks of the Thames or
the Seine; and your expression of amusement at this very original notion
would inevitably give great offence. Conceding this point, therefore, as
one which will not admit of argument, I shall simply divide society into
two parts—the diplomatic and the scandalous—premising, however, that
it requires a delicate touch to separate them, they are so intimately
interwoven. Those who have the _entrée_ of the several embassies
criticise each other; while those who have not, exercise a still more
powerful prerogative; and certain it is that, between the two, the
population of Pera is a great circulating medium which would render an
official “hue and cry” a work of supererogation. “Not a feather falls
to the ground,” but in half an hour every individual in the place knows
by whom it was plucked, and the tale is told with a raciness and a zest
that would make the fortune of a Sunday paper.
A nice distinction exists among the Greeks, on which they vehemently
insist; the Greek Catholics consider themselves as Europeans, while the
schismatic Greeks do not assume this privilege, of which the former are
extremely jealous.
After the residence of a few weeks, you can readily determine the origin
of every female whom you encounter in the streets of Pera. The fair
Perotes, indeed, wear the bonnet, the cloak, and the shawl, which form
the walking garb of the genuine European gentlewoman; but, nevertheless,
it is impossible not to distinguish them at a glance; an insurmountable
taste for bright colours, an indescribable peculiarity in the adjustment
of their toilette, at once mark the Perote; while the dark-eyed Greek is
known by her wide-spreading turban of gauze or velvet, over which is
flung a lace veil, which, falling low upon the back and shoulders,
leaves the face almost entirely uncovered.
Since the great fire of Pera, the Ambassadors of England and France have
resided at Therapia, a pretty village on the banks of the Bosphorus,
near the mouth of the Black Sea; but the Internuncio of Russia, the
Ministers of Austria and Prussia, and the Chargés d’Affaires of Sardinia
and Holland, still inhabit the town daring the winter months. The
Austrian palace, however, is the only one that now remains, the other
diplomatic establishments being compressed into dwelling-houses; thus
the Russian minister inhabits a mansion in the High Street, and the
Dutch Chargé d’Affaires resides next door to us.
The _entrée_ of the embassies is peculiarly easy to the resident
Europeans, as their number is so limited that _les grands convenances_
are almost necessarily laid aside, and their Excellencies
super-eminently tolerant with regard to the rank of their guests. Thus
it is somewhat startling to a traveller, accustomed to the exclusive
circles of Paris and London, to find, not only merchants and their wives
at the diplomatic _soirées_, but even the head clerks and their fair
partners. It is true that the mode of reception has gradations of
graciousness,
“Small by degrees, and beautifully less;”
but this is mere matter of individual feeling and power of
endurance—the fact remains unaltered.
The Carnival had this year resumed its gaiety; men’s minds had begun to
cast off the panic occasioned by the terrific conflagration which almost
made the town a waste, and nearly ruined many of the inhabitants whose
property consisted chiefly in houses.
At the Austrian palace there were balls every Sunday throughout the
Carnival, where mustachioes and diplomatic buttons were rife. The
never-ending cotillon, the rapid mazurka, the quadrille, and waltz, were
equally popular; and I have danced the first with a Greek, the second
with a Russian, the third with a Frenchman, and the fourth with a
German, during the course of the evening.
The Baron de Stürmer, the Austrian minister, is about fifty years of
age, partially bald, and remarkably grave-looking when not excited; but
his address is peculiarly agreeable, and his smile like lightning.
Madame la Baronne is a good specimen of the present school of Parisian
breeding—her pride is blent with playfulness, and her courtesy is as
gracious as it is graceful. Although _tant soit peu precieuse_—she is
perfectly free from pedantry, and is a delightful 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.”