It is probable that there never was in the history of the world a
city so crammed with every sample of the tribes of rascaldom as
Constantinople at this epoch. I saw, from the carriage gateway at the
Hôtel de Byzance, three coffee-coloured scoundrels pause at the place
of custom held by an itinerant moneychanger. The man sat with his little
glazed box of Turkish and foreign coins before him on the pavement, his
whole financial stock-in-trade amounting to perhaps twenty or thirty
pounds. One of the passing rascals offered for his inspection
a diminutive gold coin, and the grey-bearded, venerable-looking
money-merchant, having examined it, opened his case and took out a
handful of coins to give change for it. The glass lid was no sooner
lifted, than each one of the trio dipped in a coffee-coloured paw and
took out a handful of money. The man who had shown the small gold coin
pouched it again and walked on. The poor old money-changer rose to his
feet and made a motion as if he would follow; but one of the ruffians
half drew the sword which hung at his side, and turned upon him with
a sudden snarl. The old man sat down to his loss, and made no further
attempt to recover his stolen belongings.
Wandering up and down the city I was witness to a score of acts of
equal lawlessness, and in point of fact the whole place was a prey to a
restless terror. Between the city and the Sweet Waters of Europe there
was an encampment of perhaps the most remarkable and varied assortment
of blackguards that ever got together in the history of civilised
warfare. Until they were known, the curious citizens used to ride out to
look at them and wander about the camp; but one or two days' experience
cured the people of Constantinople of this habit A Greek lady and her
daughter were hideously done to death by the encamped ruffians, and
the coachman who strove to rescue them had his throat cut Two or three
events of this kind set the Christian part of Constantinople in a panic,
and no white man ventured abroad after nightfall without carrying arms.
With all this the streets had never been bare. Every night the Grande
Rue de Péra swarmed with passengers; the restaurants and hotels were
full; and you could hear the raucous voices of the vocal failures of a
dozen countries shrieking and bellowing through the open windows of the
_cafés-chantants_ along the street The one place that we frequented was
the Concert Flamm. It was kept by one Napoléon Flamm, who in those days
was known to almost every Englishman in Constantinople. He had a little
silver hell beside the concert-room, and the swindling roulette-table
there was presided over by a fat oily Greek, who might from his aspect,
had some friend taken the trouble to wash him, have been supposed to
be a diplomat of high rank. The table, as I very well remember, had but
twenty-four numbers and at either end a zero. Had the game been fair,
and had all the players been skilled, the proprietor of this contrivance
must have taken by mathematical law a penny out of every shilling
which was laid against the bank. I make no pretence to an extraordinary
credulity; but I still believe that the fat Greek had a dodge by means
of which it was possible to arrest the action of the wheel at the most
profitable moment.
There was a Dutchman in the silver hell one night--a gentleman who told
us that he was known in South Africa as the King of Diamonds. We learned
later on, from independent sources, that though he had kept the suit he
had changed the card. From Kim-berley to Table Bay the fame of the Knave
of Diamonds had travelled, and if only one-half we heard of the man was
true he had earned his title. For something like an hour and a half
this gentleman and myself stood side by side at the roulette-table, and
noticed unfailingly that whenever black was most heavily backed red won,
and whenever the major part of the money was on red black turned up. We
formed our own conclusions, and in our sober hours at least declined to
play at that particular table.
There was a tremendous fight in these rooms one evening, which was begun
in a comic way enough by Captain Georg von A------, of the 4th Kônig's
Dragoons--a handsome, dashing young giant of a cavalry officer, who had
done excellent service against the French at Gravelotte, and who was now
bent on joining that ill-fated Polish Legion which was for a while
the receptacle into which was swept half the scoundreldom and half the
honest adventurous spirit of young Europe.
Poor dear old Campbell, dead these many years now (he fell under
Wolseley leading the black contingent on Secocoeni's Height), the young
German captain, and myself, had dined together, and Von A------ had
dined not wisely, but too well. He had learned a word or two of
Turkish, and, supposing that the inhabitants of the Grande Rue and
the frequenters of the Concert Flamm were Turks, he rose and uttered
a patriotic phrase, 'Chokularishah Padishah!' which means, as I am
informed on credible authority, 'May the Sultan live for ever!' All
the befezzed and bearded gentry, hook-nosed, sloe-eyed and greasy of
complexion, who frequented the café of Monsieur Napoléon Flamm were
Greeks and Armenians, and whether the Sultan lived for ever or died next
day they did not care one jot They stared somewhat impolitely at the
handsome fair-haired young German, but said nothing. He carried on his
parable in Turkish: 'Muscov dormous,' and illustrated his meaning by
drawing his thumb with Masonic vigour across his windpipe.
The words and the action together were meant to signify that the Russian
was a hog and ought to have his throat cut Straightway up stood a
little Greek with a 'Je suis Muscov, monsieur,' and the captain promptly
knocked him down. He had not meant to do anything of the sort, but the
mere windy buffet of his big hand toppled the little Levantine on to the
floor. There was an immediate shindy. A coffee-cup was hurled by
some indignant compatriot of the man assaulted and sent a splendid
looking-glass, seven or eight feet high, to irremediable ruin< A
coffee-cup in a Constantinople café is made of porcelain as thick as a
lady's little finger, and weighs something like a quarter of a pound.
In less time than it takes to tell it the nationalities were mixed and
sorted again. Gaul, Briton, and Teuton--there were seven of us from the
north-western end of Europe--got shoulder to shoulder, and every man of
us had half a score to tackle. I never saw so funny a fight in all my
life, and certainly never enjoyed myself at less personal risk. The
room was clear in something under five minutes, and England, France, and
Germany stood triumphant. The little Levantine crowd streamed down the
winding stair, and Campbell added insult to injury and injury to insult
by picking up the hindmost small man and dropping him on to the heads
of those who had gone before him. We all laughed heroically; but when
we got downstairs, after the outgoing crowd, the aspect of affairs was
changed considerably.
I am talking of many years ago, and I am not quite certain of local
names at any moment People who know Constantinople can correct me if I
mistake the name of the place; but I think it is the Rue Yildijé which
stands nearly opposite the entrance to the old Café Flamm and leads, or
led, to the low Greek quarter. Anyhow, there is a sloping street there
which runs down by a flight of rough stone steps towards the Galata
district, and from this a fierce crowd came swarming, armed with
broom-handles, knives, pokers, tongs--any weapon snatched up in the
vengeful tide of the moment. Poor Campbell took command of our party,
formed us in line, and made us draw our revolvers. The entrance to the
café was wide enough to allow us to issue shoulder to shoulder in a sort
of bow. We ranged ourselves along the wall, flanked the crowd, and took
up a position across the pavement. Amongst our enemies those behind
cried 'Forward!' and those in front cried 'Back!' We paced backward
until we reached the Byzance Hotel, some fifty or sixty yards away,
and there, once within the gateway, we put up our weapons, entered the
hotel, and called for drinks. In a better-regulated city we might have
heard something more about it; but, as it was, nothing happened, and the
Chief Constable of the Consulate--from whom, by the way, I had bought
the Irish Constabulary revolver which enabled me to make my show against
the crowd--joined us in the course of the evening and laughed heartily
at the tale.