The Bosphorus in Summer—The Tower of Galata—Mosque of
Topphannè—Summer Palace of the Grand Vizier—Seraï of the
Princess Salihè—Seraïs and Salemliks—Palace of Azmè
Sultane—Turkish Music—Token Flowers—Palace of the Princess
Mihirmàh—The Hill of the Thousand Nightingales—Turkish,
Greek, and Armenian Houses—Cleanliness of the Orientals—The
Armenians—Cemetery of Isari—The Castle of Europe—Mahomet and
the Greeks—Village of Mirgheun—The Haunted Chapel of St.
Nicholas—Palace of Prince Calimachi—Imperial Jealousy—Death
of Calimachi—The Bosphorus by Moonlight—Love of the Orientals
for Flowers—Depth of the Channel—An Imperial Brig—Turkish
Justice—Fortunes of the Turkish Fleet—Sudden
Transitions—Influence of Russian Sophistry—The Sultan’s
Physicians—Naval Appointments—Rigid Discipline—The Penalty
of Disobedience—The Death-Banquet—Tahir Pasha—Radical
Remedy—Vice of the Turkish System of Government—Unkiar
Skelessi—A Mill and a Manufactory—Pic Nics—Arabian
Encampment—Bedouin Beauty—Poetical Locality.
Nothing can be richer nor more various than the shores of the Bosphorus
on a sunshiny day in summer; and many a delightful hour have I spent, in
company with my father, in the contemplation of the glorious succession
of pictures which they offer to the lover of the beautiful in nature.
One delicious morning, when not a flitting cloud marred the clear lustre
of the sky, when a gentle breeze murmured over the ripple, and the song
of the birds swelled cheerily upon the wind, we resolved to enjoy them
to their fullest extent; and, as our caïque darted along the European
coast, a thousand interesting objects presented themselves.
[Illustration: Miss Pardoe del.
Day & Haghe Lith^{rs}. to the King.
THE SERAGLIO POINT, from the HEIGHT of PERA
_Henry Colburn, 13 G^t. Marlborough S^t. 1837._]
The tower of Galata, rife with memories of the days when the dreaded
Janissaries ruled the destinies of the Empire, crowned the height,
which, clothed with houses and with verdure, swept downward to the port.
The spiral minarets of the Imperial mosque of Topphannè were flaunting
their golden glories in the light; the sounds of busy life were on the
wind; and the port once past, the wide artillery-ground, and the stately
barrack were succeeded by the summer palace of the Grand Vèzir, standing
proudly against the current, as though, like the Emperor of old, it
dared the wave to overwhelm it. The wide sweep of hilly country,
gradually closing, and becoming more lofty in the rear of the buildings
that fringe the stream, was clothed with trees of every tint; from among
which the many-coloured houses peeped forth in the most picturesque
irregularity. Here and there a gleaming minaret shot upwards into the
clear Heaven from amid a cluster of plum-coloured Judas trees laden with
blossom, or a clump of limes filling the air with perfume; and leaving
the dark spiral cypresses far beneath it; as the spirit, soaring above
the earth, outtravels the gloom and care from which it frees itself.
What a line of palaces stretched along the coast! And what a wilderness
of gardens, climbing the steeps behind them, made the background of the
picture no inapt representation of fairy-land; while at intervals a
little bay formed a delicious nook occupied by country-houses, and
terraced-coffee-shops, where the luxurious Osmanli smoked his pipe, and
inhaled his tiny cup of mocha, amid sights and sounds to which the world
can probably produce no parallel.
The stately serail of the Princess Salihè, and the modest palace of her
less high-born husband, which is attached like an excrescence to the
far-spreading edifice occupied by the harem of his Imperial partner,
stands upon a spot where the stream widens, as if to reflect more
perfectly the golden shores that hem it in.
There is something amusing enough to a foreigner in the one-sided
dwellings of the Sultan’s sons-in-law. Without the palace as well as
within, they are constantly reminded of the superiority of their
Imperial spouses. As they glide along in their gilded caïques, they pass
the harem, with its tall doors of bronze, and golden lattices; its
far-stretching terraces, and guarded avenues; and they arrive before the
small landing-place which gives ingress to their own diminutive
salemliek, with its single entrance, and its window draperies of white
cotton.
You cannot pass the Palace of Azmè Sultane, the elder sister of the
Sultan, without being saluted by the sounds of music. The ladies of her
harem are many of them consummate musicians, according to Turkish ideas
of harmony; and the tinkle of the zebec, the long notes of the violin,
the ringing rattle of the tambourine, and a chorus of female voices, are
so constantly sweeping over the water through the closed lattices, that
your boatmen universally slacken their pace as they reach the Seraïl.
Oriental music requires distance to mellow it: and when it floats along
the water, as though it rose from the ocean caves; and you suffer your
imagination to dwell upon the white arms which are tossed in air as the
silver wheels of the elastic tambourine ring out; and the delicate
fingers that press the strings, and the rich red lips and large dark
eyes that lend new grace to the wild and bounding melodies of the
country—you are almost ready to fancy for the moment, that Apollo must
have first swept his lyre in a Turkish harem.
While you look fixedly towards the lattices, as though to search for the
embodiment of your romantic fancies, you may discover proofs that the
community is not one vowed to the rosary, though it may wear the veil.
Here it is an orange attached by a lock of hair to the outer frame of
the small centre window of the trellice-work; there it is a marigold
suspended by a red ribbon; while, partially concealed, and twined amid
the minute squares of the jealous screen, you may perhaps discover a
small cluster of roses.
This is the very land of practical romance!
An arrow’s flight beyond the Palace of the elder Sultana, stands that of
the Imperial bride of Saïd Pasha; a long, irregular, rose-coloured pile,
pleasantly situated at the mouth of a lovely bay, whose shores are
bright with groves and many-tinted villas; while in the distance, where
the channel again narrows, the castles of Europe and Asia may be seen
looming out against the pure blue of the sky. We loitered at this sweet
spot for a brief space, and then, darting once more forward, soon
arrived under the “Hill of the Thousand Nightingales.” Rightly is it
named, for the mid-day air was vocal with their melody, and the dense
foliage of the forest trees quivered with their song; while, as the
melancholy music came to us along the water, its sadness was deepened by
the aspect of a few scattered tombs gleaming out amid the rank
underwood. The variety of timber which clothed the eminence formed such
varying shades of green; from the bright soft tint of the water-willow,
whose flexile branches swayed in the breeze like silken streamers, to
the tall, dark, silent cypresses, that it was a study for a landscape
painter.
Beyond this lovely hill, the shore is edged with Greek, Armenian, and
Turkish houses; and here commences the _moral_ interest of the locality.
The dwellings of the raïahs are, when of any extent, almost universally
painted of two different colours on the outside, in order to give them
the appearance of separate tenements, and thus deceive the passers-by;
while those of the Turks themselves are perfectly illustrative of the
momentary condition of their owners.
The Osmanli is the creature of the present; he never falls back upon the
past; he has no glorious memories to wile him from himself; every page
of his history is shadowed over by some gloomy recollection—nor dare he
dwell upon the future, for he is the subject of a despotic government:
the proud Pasha of to-day may be headless, or at best houseless
to-morrow; and hence, the premature decay of three-fourths of the
Turkish dwellings.
When an individual becomes possessed of power, he buys or builds a
residence suited to his brightened fortunes: he lavishes his
revenue—why should he hoard it? it can only excite the cupidity of the
Sultan, and accelerate his disgrace; or awaken the jealousy of his
rivals, and insure his ruin. He makes his house gay without, and
convenient within; but all its accessories are ephemeral—the paint
which he spreads over the surface remains fresh for a year, and that
suffices him. Perchance it may outlast his favour; should it not do so,
it is no unpleasant task to renew it; and if it should, he contents
himself with the weather-stained walls of a more golden season. Once in
disgrace, he repairs only just sufficiently to defy the weather, and
troubles himself no further. And thus, after you have been a few months
in the country, and have studied in some degree the nature and habits of
the people, you may give a shrewd guess as you ride along, at the past
and present position of the owner of every edifice that fringes the
Bosphorus.
The courtier has raised a pile which looks as though it had been
finished only yesterday; the walls are so bright, and the lattices are
so perfect—the blue ripple chafes against the marble steps that lead to
the columned portico; and the feathery acacias nestle among their
blossoming boughs, gilded kiosks, and lordly terraces.
The slighted favourite has still servants lounging about his door, and a
stately landing-place beside which his caïque dances on the wave; but a
shade has past over the picture: the summer sun and the winter wind have
deadened the bright blue or the soft olive of the edifice, and here and
there a slender bar is rent away from the discoloured lattices. The
fair forest trees still wave along the covered terrace, but the steps
are grass-grown, and the flower-vases are overthrown—they might be
replaced; but it is better policy to let them suffer with their master.
The dwelling of the exile is still more distinguishable. The shutters
are hanging loose and beating in the wind; the broken casements no
longer exclude the weather; the lattices are wrenched away; the
terrace-wall is falling inch by inch into the wave; the rank grass is
forcing its way through the crevices of the marble floor; the garden
kiosks are roofless; and the green fresh boughs are flaunting in the
sunshine, mocking the desolation which they dominate.
Fathers do not, in Turkey, build, or plant, or purchase for their
sons—their fathers did it not for them—it would entail the probable
loss of both principle and interest.
The Armenian houses are peculiarly remarkable for their cleanliness. All
the inhabitants of Constantinople in decent circumstances are
scrupulously nice on this point, but the Armenians exceed all others:
every respectable dwelling being scoured throughout once a week with
soap and water. I have already, in speaking of this people, alluded to
their utter deficiency in sentiment and ambition: their lives are
frittered away in inconsequent details; and hence the attention and
interest are bestowed on comparatively insignificant objects, which
render them remarkable to strangers.
Another striking object on the coast is the romantic and beautiful
little cemetery of Isari, situated immediately beneath the Castle of
Europe, by which it is dominated as by the eagle-eïrie of some feudal
Baron. Rocks, rudely flung together, and in their perpendicular ascent
impervious to vegetation, sustain the foundations of the fortress; while
around and among them snatches of kindlier earth are covered with dense
rich underwood, from amid which tall graceful trees spring up, and
overshadow the gilded marble of many a columned grave-stone.
The Castle of Europe, standing immediately opposite to the valley
occupied by the castle on the other coast, is built after a singular
fancy. Tradition tells that Mahomet, from his Asiatic mountains,
contemplated with envy the lovely shores of Europe; and that, unable to
restrain his desire of possessing at least a speck of the fair
landscape, he entreated permission of the Greeks to be allowed to build
a small fortress as a landing-place, on their territory. The favour was
granted, the materials collected, and the present Castle of Europe
completed in six days; the ground-plan forming the characters of the
Prophet’s name.
Near the edge of the channel, a small arched door is pointed out to the
curious, whence the Janissaries who had become obnoxious to the reigning
Sultan, and whose especial prison it was, were ejected from the fortress
after they had been bow-strung, in order to be flung into the Bosphorus;
while, at the instant that the waters closed over them, a gun was fired
from one of the towers, to intimate to the Imperial despot that justice
had been done on his enemies.
This Castle, like the Fortresses of the Dardanelles, has been suffered
to fall into partial decay, but an order was lately issued for their
simultaneous restoration, and workmen are now busily employed in
repairing the united ravages of time and neglect.
The little village of Mirgheun, about a mile higher up the channel, is
one of the prettiest things on the Bosphorus. A long street, terminating
at the water’s edge, stretches far into the distance, its centre being
occupied by a Moorish fountain of white marble, overshadowed by limes
and acacias, beneath which are coffee terraces; constantly thronged with
Turks, sitting gravely in groups upon low stools not more than half a
foot from the ground, and occupied with their chibouks and mocha.
A short distance beyond Mirgheun the channel widens into a little bay,
one of whose extremities is occupied by a ruined house, standing in the
midst of a garden. This house, which was formerly a chapel dedicated to
St. Nicholas, is now the property of a Turk, but is never inhabited in
consequence of a superstition so wild, and withal so fully credited by
both Greeks and Musselmauns, that I must not pass it by unnoticed.
The chapel was desecrated during the Greek revolution; and taken
possession of, under the Imperial sanction, by a Turk, who, hurling the
effigy of the saint from the niche above the altar, converted the holy
shrine into a dwelling-place for himself and his family; but on the very
night on which he removed thither he was destined to pay the price of
his sacrilege, for he was found in the morning dead in his bed; an event
which so appalled his relatives that they immediately disposed of the
house to a neighbour, whose only child fell a victim, in the same
mysterious manner, to the vengeance of the outraged saint—a third
purchaser lost his wife by the like means; and the spot became from that
day the dread and horror of every True Believer; while it is an
extraordinary fact that its Infidel owner sent for a Greek Papas to
exorcise the evil spirit, or to conciliate the saint; and that a solemn
sprinkling of holy water and chanting of hymns took place; but it is
impossible to say with what success, as no tenant has subsequently been
found for the dwelling, which is rapidly crumbling to decay.
As you approach Therapia, you come upon a long stretch of wall, pierced
in one regular line with small square windows, and looking exactly like
an ill-kept manufactory; while the fine stone terrace that runs along
its whole façade, and the thickly-planted shrubberies which clothe the
hill behind it, have something so lordly and imposing in their aspect,
that your attention is irresistibly attracted, and your curiosity
awakened. Should your caïquejhes be Greeks, they will scarcely answer
your inquiry without muttering an imprecation through their clenched
teeth. It is the sorry remain of the palace of Prince Calimachi, seized
by the Sultan in a fit of despotic jealousy, and converted into a stable
for the Imperial stud, but so entirely disproportioned to its new office
as to be perfectly useless—the extent being immense, and the number of
the Sultan’s horses extremely limited; it has consequently been
abandoned to premature decay, and a noble object is thus blotted from
the landscape, and degraded into a deformity.
The son of the Prince was Dragoman to the Porte when the seizure was
made; but being a Greek, his court interest availed him nothing; his
ideas were too magnificent, and he paid the forfeit of his luxury.
But the misfortunes of Prince Calimachi did not end here. Exiled to
Broussa, he endeavoured in the bosom of his family to lose the memory of
his departed splendour; when he was one day invited to the palace of the
Pasha to encounter him at chess, of which game both were passionately
fond. Calimachi accepted the defiance with alacrity, for he knew not how
dearly he was to pay the gratification. While he was deliberating on a
move, the Pasha waved his hand, and in an instant the fatal cord was
about the throat of his victim. The bereaved wife was next summoned; and
though the dark ring of extravasated blood betrayed the deed which had
been done, she was told that the Prince had expired from an attack of
paralysis; nor did she dare to gainsay the falsehood; and thus she bore
away the body of her murdered husband in the silence of despair.
The Sultan has a kiosk on the one hand, and a summer palace on the
other, of this melancholy memorial of despotic power; but I was in no
mood to admire either with such an object before me.
To be seen in all its beauty, the Bosphorus should be looked upon by
moonlight. Then it is that the occupants of the spacious mansions which
are mirrored in its waters, enjoy to the fullest perfection the
magnificence of the scene around them. The glare of noon-day reveals too
broadly the features of the locality; while the deep, blue, star-studded
sky, the pure moonlight, and the holy quiet of evening, lend to it, on
the contrary, a mysterious indistinctness which doubles its attraction.
The inhabitants of the capital are conscious of this fact; and during
the summer months, when they occupy their marine mansions, one of their
greatest recreations is to seat themselves upon the seaward terraces, to
watch the sparkling of the ripple, and to listen to the evening hymn of
the seamen on board the Greek and Italian vessels; amused at intervals
by a huge shoal of porpoises rolling past, gambolling in the moonlight,
and plunging amid the waves with a sound like thunder: while afar off
are the dark mountains of Asia casting their long dusky shadows far
across the water, and the quivering summits of the tall trees on the
edge of the channel sparkling like silver, and lending the last touch of
loveliness to a landscape perhaps unparalleled in the world.
Shakspeare must have had a vision of the Bosphorus, when he wrote the
garden scene in Romeo and Juliet!
All the Orientals idolize flowers. Every good house upon the border of
the channel has a parterre, terraced off from the sea, of which you
obtain glimpses through the latticed windows; and where the rose trees
are trained into a thousand shapes of beauty—sometimes a line of arches
rises all bloom and freshness above a favourite walk—sometimes the
plants are stretched round vases of red clay of the most classical
formation, of which they preserve the shape—ranges of carnations,
clumps of acacias, and bosquets of seringa, are common; and the effect
of these fair flowers, half shielded from observation, and overhung with
forest trees, which are in profusion in every garden, is extremely
agreeable.
Another peculiarity of the Bosphorus is the great depth of the water to
the very edges of the channel. The terraces that hem it in are
frequently injured by their contact with the shipping which, in a sudden
lull of wind, or by some inadvertence on the part of the helmsman, “run
foul” (to use a nautical expression) of the shore; nor is it the
terraces alone that suffer, for the houses whose upper stories project
over the stream, which is almost universally the case where they are of
any extent, are constantly sustaining injury from the same cause.
We had occupied our summer residence only two days, when an Imperial
Brig in the Turkish service, in attempting a tack, thrust its bowsprit
through the centre window of the magnificent saloon of an Armenian
banker, with whose family we were acquainted. The master of the house,
exasperated at the evident carelessness in which the accident had
originated, rushed out upon the terrace to remonstrate, but his
remonstrances were unheeded; and he had scarcely re-entered the house
when the Turkish captain, who was intoxicated, landed, and without
ceremony passed into the outer court, accompanied by some of his crew;
and, seizing the brother of the gentleman, and several of his servants,
gave them a severe beating, and then quietly returned on board. The
vessel was extricated after a time, carrying away with it nearly the
whole front of the saloon, and a large portion of the roof; after which,
the gallant commander again entered the house, and insisted upon
conveying its master to Constantinople, there to expiate the sin of
insolence to a Turkish officer. The Saraf, however, having business in
the city, had already departed, and consequently escaped the
inconvenience and insult destined for him.
Were I the Admiral of a Fleet charged with the conquest of a channel
like that of the Bosphorus, I would employ none but Turkish sailors, who
are never so much at home as when aground, or hung on to some building;
they would literally carry the thing by assault. Their mighty ships of
war do as they like, for they are constantly “touching,” when they are
supposed to be cruizing; and “aground” when the authorities at home
believe them to be at sea.
Where did you meet the Admiral’s schooner as you came from Malta? On
shore off Tenedos. Where did you speak the frigate on your way here?
Aground at Gallipoli? These were the answers to two questions put by
myself; and had I ventured twenty more I should probably have received
similar replies.
Englishmen will probably, at the first glance, wonder why it should be
thus; but it would be greater subject for astonishment were it
otherwise. When a Field Marshal, by kissing the Sublime Toe, is
translated at once into a Lord High Admiral; and the Colonel of a
Cavalry regiment becomes by an equally simple process a manufacturer of
Macaroni; and when each is called upon to teach that which he never
learnt, and to command ere he has been taught how to obey; the effects
of the system may be readily foreseen. Nevertheless, were the Turks
permitted to employ even subordinate European officers in their army and
navy, much of the evil might be obviated. But Russia is opposed to a
measure which would give them a correct idea of their own physical
strength—by weakening the _morale_, she enervates the whole system;
while, by her happy art of consopiation, and her finished tact at
glossing over effects, and inventing causes, she has taught them to
believe themselves independent of extraneous aid, Heaven-inspired, and
all-sufficient.
It signifies not how irrelevant the duties of any situation may be to
his previous habits and talent, no Turk would hesitate to accept it on
that account, should the occasion of self-aggrandizement present itself;
and he has two satisfactory reasons for acting thus—he must at least be
as capable of fulfilling them as his predecessor, who was equally
ill-fitted for the trust—and, should he refuse one good offer, he would
probably never have a second. Thus reason the Osmanlis, and upon this
conviction they act. Nor is Sultan Mahmoud one whit more difficult or
quick-sighted on this point than his subjects; or more scrupulous as to
the efficiency of those to whom he gives important appointments, than
they are in accepting them; and a ludicrous example of this
uncalculating facility occurred very lately, so perfectly in point that
I cannot forbear to mention it.
His Highness had a favourite physician, to whom he had entrusted the
superintendence of a public establishment, and who died suddenly at
Scutari. When informed of his death, the Sultan was visibly affected:
and in the first moment of regret he inquired anxiously if the deceased
had left any family. He was answered that he had an only son, a clerk in
the Greek Chancellery, whose situation was far from a lucrative one; and
he immediately desired that the youth, who had not yet attained his
twentieth year, should be appointed on the instant to his father’s
vacancy, and receive the same salary which had been enjoyed by his
parent. He was obeyed; and the spruce clerk at once became
metamorphosed into the solemn physician, or something as near like it as
he could accomplish.
By an arrangement not altogether so satisfactory, surgeons are supplied
to the ships of war. When a medical man is required on board some vessel
of the line, individuals appointed for the purpose walk into the first
chemist’s shop they may happen to pass, seize the master, carry him off,
hurry him first into a caïque, and thence to the ship; appoint him
surgeon, enter him on the books, acquaint him with the amount of his
pay; and, should he venture to remonstrate, give him a sound flogging.
Nor are “the powers that be” at all more particular in their bearing
towards the officers of the ships, whom they flog (the captains
inclusive) whenever they chance to consider the operation desirable. On
a late occasion, two of the frigates ran foul of each other in the
Channel, upon which Tahir Pasha, the High Admiral, bestowed the
bastinado so unsparingly upon their commanders, that the blood
penetrated their garments; and they were subsequently flung into some
den in the hold, and there left during three days, not only without
attendance, but literally without food!
It may be asked what punishment can be inflicted on the crews, if such
unceremonious measures are pursued with the officers; and as one fact
is better than a score of assertions, I will reply by relating another
very recent occurrence, described to me by a Greek gentleman who was
present during the whole transaction. The Capitan Pasha had a party of
friends to dine with him on board his ship, who were about to seat
themselves at table, when it was reported to him that one of the crew,
in defiance of the order which forbade any individual to go on shore,
had surreptitiously left the vessel.
“Let me know when he returns on board;” was the cold and careless
rejoinder of the High Admiral, who had scarcely uttered the words, when
the re-appearance of the delinquent was announced, after an absence of
about ten minutes. He was ordered below to account for his conduct to
the Pasha, whose very name is a terror to the whole fleet, when he
stated that the following day being Friday (the Turkish Sabbath), he had
ventured on shore to procure some clean linen, fearing the anger of the
Admiral should he appear dirty.
“And was it for this trifle that you disobeyed my orders?” asked the
Pasha; “I must take measures to prevent any future instance of the same
misconduct—” and grasping an iron bar that served to secure one of the
cabin windows, and which stood near him—without the pause of a
moment—surrounded by his guestsstanding beside a table spread for a
banquet and with his victim crouching at his feet—he struck the
quailing wretch upon the head, and murdered him with a blow. The body
fell heavily on the earth in the death-spasm; and the Admiral,
addressing himself to an attendant, quietly ordered that the corpse
should be removed, and the dinner served: but several of the party
declined remaining after what they had witnessed, declaring their
inability to partake of food at such a moment; these were, of course,
Turks; for the Greek guests, although equally disgusted and heart-sick,
were not at liberty to withdraw without danger; and the dead man was
borne away, and the living feasted, with his death-groan still ringing
in their ears, and his last fierce agony yet grappling at their hearts!
Tahir Pasha is a perfect embodiment of the vulgar idea of Turkish
character which was so lately prevalent in Europe. He is the slave of
his passions, and apparently without human affections or human
sympathies. He lost his only son by his own violence, having beaten him
so severely for quitting the house without his permission, that the
unhappy young man died a day or two subsequently, in consequence of the
injuries which he had sustained; and, instead of profiting by this awful
occurrence, he afterwards murdered a nephew in the same manner.
And yet I have heard men, carried away by party-spirit, and hoodwinked
by prejudice, maintain that this fiend in human shape was not cruel; and
bolster their opinions with a sophistry that made me shudder.
I inquired of an _attaché_ of the Porte whether the Sultan was aware of
the waste of life in his fleet, where a week seldom passes in which some
luckless wretch does not fall a victim to the wrath of the High Admiral;
and the coolness of the answer was inimitable: “What has His Highness to
do with it?” “How!” I rejoined in my turn, “are they not his subjects?”
“Of course; but Tahir Pasha commands the fleet; and, while he does so,
he has a right to enforce its discipline as he thinks best. Why should
the Sultan interfere?” “But such wholesale cruelty is so revolting.”
“Perhaps so; yet how can it be remedied?” “Were I the Sultan,” I
answered unhesitatingly, “I would decapitate the High Admiral; it would
be a saving of human blood.” The Turk laughed at my earnestness as he
replied; “Mashallah! you have hit upon a radical remedy. But how would
you secure the fleet against a second Tahir Pasha?”
He was right. The evil exists rather in the system than in the
individual; but it is, nevertheless, a blessing for Turkey, that the
equal of her High Admiral, for ruthlessness and cruelty, is probably not
to be found in the country. And yet, to look at him, you would imagine
that no thought of violence, no impulse of revenge, had ever stirred
his spirit; he has the head of an anchorite, and the brow of a saint. I
never beheld a more benevolent countenance—Lavater would have been at
fault with him.
One of the most pleasant excursions that can be made to the opposite
coast, is to Unkiar Skelessi, or the Sultan’s Pier; a sweet valley,
under the shadow of the Giant’s Mountain, in which the famous treaty was
signed with Russia. It is profusely shaded with majestic trees, the
largest in the neighbourhood, and is entirely covered with rich grass.
The spot on which the ceremony took place is overhung with maples, and
washed by a running stream: behind it rises a range of hills; and on its
left stands an extensive manufactory of cloth, and a paper-mill, erected
at an immense expense, and furnished with their elaborate machinery by
the present Sultan, who caused an elegant kiosk to be erected upon the
height for his own use, when he went to superintend the works, which
were, however, abandoned as soon as the novelty had worn off. They are
now falling rapidly to ruin; and the noble run of water which was forced
from its channel to turn the wheels of the mill, is wasting itself in an
useless course across the valley, ere it is finally lost in the
Bosphorus.
This lovely spot is much frequented on festival days by all classes of
the population, who form pic-nic parties, and spend hours under the
shade of the tall trees, sipping their coffee and sherbet; or occupying
the different terraces which overlook the Bosphorus, with regular
pleasure-parties, whose servants come well provided with provisions, and
who linger throughout the whole day, enjoying the cool breezes from the
sea, and the long shadows of the boughs beneath which they sit.
Higher up the valley, you generally meet with an encampment of Bedouin
Arabs, where you are almost certain to see two or three faces of dark
flashing beauty, which repay you for the annoyance that you experience
from the importunity of the troop of children who assail you directly
you approach the tents; little, ragged, merry-looking, vociferous
urchins, of whom you cannot rid yourself either by bribes or menaces.
These dark, proud beauties—for they are proud-looking, even amid their
tatters, with their large, wild, black eyes, and their long raven hair
plaited in many braids, which fall upon their shoulders, and hang below
their waists; their round, smooth arms bare to the elbow, whence the
large, hanging sleeves fall back; and their well-turned little feet
peeping out from beneath their ample trowsers; these dark, proud
beauties greet you with a smile, and a “Mashallah!” that introduce you
to teeth like pearls, and voices like music; and as they sit, weaving
their baskets for the market of Constantinople, they extend towards you
their slender, henna-tipped fingers, and ask your piastres, without
taking the trouble to rise, rather as a tribute to their loveliness,
than as an offering to their necessities.
To escape from the importunities of the children, whom the sight of the
tempting metal renders only more importunate, you have but to plunge
deeper into the valley, and lose yourself among the majestic plane trees
with which it abounds. The nightingale alone disturbs the deep silence
of the solitude, save when at intervals the lowing of the cattle on the
mountain sweeps along upon the wind.
It was here that De Lille wrote his “Pleasures of Imagination.”—It was
here that De la Martine improvised to the memory of his daughter; the
soil is poetic.