A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF CONSTANTINOPLE FROM PERA.
An accomplished linguist--Le Petit Champ des Morts--Bird’s-eye
view--Breakfast table of the hotel--English Embassy--Interview with
Lady Stratford de Redcliffe--The sanctuary of high diplomacy--Lord
Stratford de Redcliffe--Signor Roco Vido--His apartment--Importance
of a good dinner--Lord Stratford’s diplomatic banquet
postponed--Probable consequences--Quotation from the _Gastronomic
Regenerator_.
The rays of the sun on that showery March day assumed, towards five
p.m., in the regions of the West, a most brilliant aspect. The vaporous
edges of the humid clouds seemed gilded with vermilion and silver tints.
The floods of light, like living fire, fell upon the rich masses of the
domes of various mosques, and hundreds of pointed and slender minarets.
While gazing in loneliness and contemplation, from the terrace of the
Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, at this charming spot in the East, to which the
beautiful mirage of an Oriental sunset lent an indescribable charm, a
shrieking voice was heard from the lower terrace, saying, “Il signor, la
table d’outre est servi! et il se refroidit fortement! La soupe il étoit
tout à fait déménagée of the tureen!” Looking over the railing, I
perceived the interpreter of the hotel, who was unfortunately the
possessor of several tongues, addressing himself to me. He, no doubt,
meant to imply that the table-d’hôte had been served, and the soup
already removed from the table. This _olla podrida_ of languages having
produced no effect upon my mind, half an hour after, the son of the
hotel-keeper made his appearance, who, though speaking French like
certain horned beasts in Spain, clearly gave me to understand that I was
too late for dinner. Taking advantage of his unexpected visit, I
inquired, looking towards the arsenal, “What part of the metropolis is
that opening near us?”
“Le Petit Champ des Morts, or the Small Field of the Dead,--so-called,
though nearly two miles in circumference, which is now so full that no
further interments are allowed within its area,”--he replied.
By the aid of an opera-glass, I plainly distinguished beneath us a large
pile of irregular stones, encircled by a railing. I, at first sight,
took this for the ruins of a kind of hippodrome which might have
succumbed to an earthquake, each stone having lost its perpendicular, as
though purposely to mock its fellow, and not making the slightest
attempt to perpetuate the grandeur of their solemn mission. Horses,
mules, and donkeys, were seen dragging loads of large planks to and fro,
six or eight on either side. The ends of the planks kept cutting rather
deep zig-zags into the soft ground, and were continually catching
against tombstones. The whole formed a kind of gigantic American
bagatelle board, where, when the ball is violently thrown to the top, it
descends by degrees, catching the points in every direction in its way
down. Next to it music was heard. Boys were romping, some playing with
marbles, or five para pieces, making use of the stones for their point
of departure. Lemonade, cakes, raki, and variegated bonbons, oranges,
lemons, &c., were briskly purchased by the promenaders, who, amongst
this _cohue-bohue_ of industry, were seen gaily crossing and recrossing
the green paths. Some reclined against the grave-stones, forming, as it
were, an arm-chair. Amongst them, however, were but few Mussulmans, some
turning Dervishes and Howlers, Greeks, Armenians, French, Perotes,
Smyrniotes, and here and there gazing with astonishing disapprobation,
some of the children of Albion. All excepting the latter might be seen
gaily fluttering from tombstone to tombstone, like busy bees from flower
to flower, in a perfumed pasture in summer. Here and there clumps of
cypress trees looked like the mournful guardians of this desecrated
spot. Some of the marble stones are still vividly stained with the blood
of the haughty and rebellious Janissaries, whose crumbling bodies lay
beneath. Such is the pious veneration of the Oriental population for the
remains of their ancestors in the Petit Champ des Morts at Pera.
The principal buildings which grace this foreign quarter are the
English, French, Austrian, Russian, Sardinian, and Prussian embassies.
The former, called the Palais d’Angleterre, now the residence of Lord
Stratford de Redcliffe, interested me most, as I was in duty bound to
pay my humble respects to his lordship and her ladyship the next
morning. It brought to my mind from a distance the celebrated building
of the Reform Club, which gave Barry his high reputation as an
architect, and where your humble servant passed above two lustres of his
culinary career.
While the new moon was faintly shining through transparent clouds, the
hundred minarets of Stamboul and its vicinity had been illuminated for a
festival, and their fiery collarettes à la Vandyke proudly carried those
rings of diamonds high towards the heavenly sphere. Eight o’clock was
striking at the Catholic church of Saint Mary. All was darkness and
silence. Hastily retiring to my bed-room, perfectly satisfied with
having fed my mind, although I had probably neglected internal
restoration, I soon fell into a most profound slumber, in which I saw
nothing but churchyards, clumps of cypress trees, mosques, and
illuminated minarets, till I awoke at daybreak.
My wandering mind having fluttered all night about the Oriental
metropolis, I was not in the slightest degree surprised to find myself
in the morning in the land which had given birth to the _Arabian
Nights_. The sound of a cracked bell was heard from the bottom of the
staircase, inviting each traveller to his morning meal. There was a
goodly number present, and we sat down about thirty-five. The majority
were military men, of various ranks, mostly French and English. Some
expressed their regret at my absence the previous evening, fancying--so
much for imagination--the dinner would have been more choice had the
landlord been personally acquainted with me. At all events, the
breakfast-table was well supplied, and I made a hearty meal, amidst the
buzzing of various languages.
As it was nearly eleven o’clock by the time I had finished, I started
for the Embassy, and after about twenty minutes of most laborious
gymnastic exercise over the ill-paved Rue (Ruelle it should be called)
de Pera, I entered the small wooden gate at the grand entrance of the
Palais d’Angleterre, which is majestically located in a fine open space
of ground, encircled by a large terrace, with parterres of shrubs and
high trees, from which spot a most favourable view of the rich mass of
building around is obtained. Modest grandeur, boldness, and simplicity
of execution, seem to have been the architect’s sole ambition. I shall
probably, in another chapter, describe the beauty and comfort of its
interior. The porter having taken my card, I was immediately shown into
the library. A few moments spent in this sanctuary of belles lettres
afforded me a fair opportunity of closely examining a very excellent and
well-executed painting, the style of which assured me that it was a good
portrait of his Sublime Majesty, the present Sultan, Abdul Medjid. Ten
minutes had scarcely elapsed, when Lady Stratford entered, and addressed
me in French, with a smile of welcome difficult to forget. “Well,
Monsieur Soyer, we heard of your departure from England for the East.”
“No doubt you did, my lady.”
“And I sincerely hope that you will succeed in your laudable
undertaking. I have no doubt your suggestions will prove highly
beneficial, and be well received by the authorities at the various
hospitals, which, in your department, are much in want of some kind of
regulation. I also hope that the Minister-at-War has invested you with
power to act according to your own judgment.”
“I am happy to inform your ladyship,” said I, “that her Majesty’s
Government has not only granted me the power required to superintend
and, if possible, improve the diet at the Hospital, but have also
honoured me with their full confidence as regards ordering anything
extra which may be required, so long as it tends to the comfort of the
sick.’
“Well, I am very happy to hear that such is the case,” replied her
ladyship; “for without such power your services would not have been so
effective.”
“I can assure your ladyship that I would not have undertaken this task
if such powers had not been granted to me by Lord Panmure. I was well
aware of the numerous difficulties I should meet with, which are almost
unavoidable in every kind of administration. But so highly do I
appreciate the honour conferred upon me, that, far from taking advantage
of the unlimited confidence reposed in me, it will be my pride to try
and make all my contemplated improvements with the present governmental
allowance; and I have no doubt that in time, by judicious organization
and good management, as well as by using everything to the best
advantage, I shall economize, instead of increasing the expense to the
nation. Having heard that your ladyship has, from the commencement of
this serious war, devoted the best part of your time to the various
hospitals, in watching over the sick and wounded, I shall esteem it a
great favour if you will direct me how to act, in order to insure prompt
success, and what articles of diet are most required for the patients.”
“It will afford me great pleasure, Monsieur Soyer, to give you the
principal information; but Signor Roco Vido, my head manager and cook,
will furnish the details, as he daily prepares large quantities of
comforts,--such as beef-tea, mutton and chicken broth, calves’-foot
jelly, &c., &c.,--and distributes them himself at the Barrack and
General Hospitals, also at Hyder Pacha, where the officers are.”
“Indeed, my lady. Such information from Signor Roco would be invaluable
to me.”
“Very well; I will send for him.”
“I beg your ladyship’s pardon, but I always understood that the
hospitals were on the other side the Bosphorus.”
“Yes, Monsieur Soyer, the great military ones are; but as at the
beginning of the campaign, after the battle of the Alma, none of them
had extra diet kitchens, we prepare food here and send it over.”
“I understand that the Bosphorus is sometimes so rough that no one can
cross it.”
“Such is the case; but we have a good-sized caique, and I can assure you
that, although it is so very dangerous, it has never missed going one
day; and since the battle of Inkermann, it often goes to Kululee, where
we have opened another hospital, nearly three miles from this. Before
you see Signor Roco, if you will follow me, I will inquire whether Lord
Stratford is disengaged, as I have no doubt he will be pleased to see
you.”
“I am your ladyship’s most humble servant,” was my reply.
After walking over the best part of the grand square gallery, and
crossing before the magnificent marble hall and gigantic staircase, we
ascended to a loftier story. A gentle tap at the door gained us
admittance to the sanctuary of high diplomacy. A plain screen was all
the furniture to be seen. A few words from her ladyship soon brought me
in communication with his Excellency, who, though much engaged (being
surrounded by mountains of official papers), received me in a most
cheerful and friendly manner. After I had said a few words relative to
the mission entrusted to me by the British Government, and her ladyship
had briefly narrated our former conversation, Lord Stratford kindly
expressed the pleasure it would give him to hear of my success in that
important department. “A good diet,” said Lady Stratford, “being of
paramount importance to every one in a state of debility. Monsieur
Soyer,” continued her ladyship, “also wishes to see Roco, to learn from
him, as he has now had several months’ practice making various aliments
for the patients, what kinds are most in request by the doctors.”
“No doubt,” Lord Redcliffe replied, “Roco will be happy to give you all
the information you may require upon the subject. He is a very good man,
and exerts himself to the utmost for the hospitals.”
Lord Stratford again expressed his good wishes and promises of kind
support, whereupon her ladyship and your humble servant retired. The
ambassadress then ordered the footman in waiting to conduct me to
Signor Roco’s apartment; expressing her desire to meet me with him the
next day at the Kululee and Scutari hospitals. I promised to attend at
those places on the following morning, and took my leave.
A walk through the gallery and corridor of that noble mansion brought us
to Signor Roco Vido’s door. An indication on the outside apprised me
that my cicerone was a child of _la belle Italie_, which at first caused
me some fear lest this should create impediments and delay in our
business transactions, as I only understood the language of the Italian
opera. A few words from the footman soon brought me in amicable contact
with the major-domo of the Palais d’Angleterre, who spoke excellent
English, and, like his illustrious master, was surrounded by archives,
but only of culinary and household affairs. The contents of these,
though not so important to the world, were nearly as substantial, more
especially the bill of fare, which in itself is capable of influencing
any diplomatic subject. A good one gratifies the stomach and soothes the
brain, which is necessarily influenced by the quality, succulence, and
scientific preparation of the aliments imparted to the first organ.
Such was the important office entrusted to the guidance of Signor Roco
Vido. And who can say, after all, that the late destructive war was not
partly, or even entirely, caused by a dinner? Did not the French
revolution of ‘48 emanate from a banquet? and upon this occasion, 1854,
six years after, a most unaccountable gastronomic event occurred. Lord
Stratford de Redcliffe, on his return to Constantinople as
plenipotentiary, had for the first time invited his Excellency Prince
Menschikoff to a grand diplomatic dinner, where all the representatives
of the then united Courts were to assemble. The day was fixed for the
21st of March, 1854, and the invitations were cordially accepted, most
especially by the representative of the Czar; he being, no doubt,
anxious to read upon the brow of the diplomatist the political feeling
of his nation. That very day, towards noon, the Sultan’s mother died. In
the morning she had written a letter to his Excellency, expressive of
her full confidence that he would study the future welfare of her son in
his relations with the British Government. On account of this mournful
event, and with a most profound feeling of respect and veneration for
the Imperial mourner, the dinner was postponed for a week; and while the
dark veil was laid over the banqueting-table, and the black seal was set
upon the _batterie de cuisine_, and numerous _bouches à feu de
l’Ambassade britannique_, his Excellency Prince Menschikoff was on board
a Russian man-of-war anchored at the mouth of the Black Sea, waiting
with all the dignity and defiance imaginable for the determination of
peace or war. The diplomatic banquet never took place! the war did!
I consider a postponed diplomatic dinner to be an universal calamity,
especially when only a few hours’ notice of the postponement is given;
and I cannot but quote the _Gastronomic Regenerator_, page 342,
published in the year 1842, in which I say--
“Rien ne dispose mieux l’esprit humain à des transactions amicales qu’un
dîner bien conçu et artistement préparé. Lisez l’histoire, et vous y
trouverez que, dans tous les temps et chez tous les peuples, le bien qui
s’est fait, et quelquefois le mal, fut toujours précédé ou suivi d’un
copieux dîner.”
_Translation._--“Nothing can prepare the human mind for amicable
intercourse better than a well-conceived and artistically-prepared
dinner. Read history, and you will ascertain that at all periods, and
amongst all nations, the benefits, and sometimes the evils, they
experienced, were either preceded or followed by a good dinner.”