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!