Tour of inspection at Marseilles—The booking office—Sleeping upon deck—Places transferred—The bouillabaisse—The Olio—Marseilles dishes—A harrowing spectacle—TheSimois—A pleasant prospect—Good ballast—The Bay of Ajaccio—Compagnons de voyage—Birthplace of the first Napoleon—La Signora Grossetti—Twenty minutes in the kitchen of the house of the Emperor Napoleon the First—Memorials of the Emperor’s childhood—A charming evening—Once more afloat—An enragedrestaurateur—Struggle for a leg of mutton—Messina—The Piræus—Athens.
Tour of inspection at Marseilles—The booking office—Sleeping upon deck—Places transferred—The bouillabaisse—The Olio—Marseilles dishes—A harrowing spectacle—TheSimois—A pleasant prospect—Good ballast—The Bay of Ajaccio—Compagnons de voyage—Birthplace of the first Napoleon—La Signora Grossetti—Twenty minutes in the kitchen of the house of the Emperor Napoleon the First—Memorials of the Emperor’s childhood—A charming evening—Once more afloat—An enragedrestaurateur—Struggle for a leg of mutton—Messina—The Piræus—Athens.
ONarriving at Marseilles, I made inquiries at the Station as to what provisions could be obtained for the army, if required. I bade my friends adieu, in hopes of having the pleasure of seeing them on board the next day, and in particular Mr. and Mrs. Cooke, who really took their duty to heart, and had a most difficult task to perform. After viewing all the magazines of Marseilles and its warehouses, I perceived that my countrymen, in the way of national business, were very little boys, who could hardly walk, when compared with English commercial men and the houses of Crosse and Blackwell, Fortnum and Mason, Hogarth, Gamble, &c. Having done my duty, so far as the victualling department was concerned, I found that with such a stock of provisions any Government might keep its army in a state of perfectstarvation—should the French Government depend upon them—though at the same time the quantity and quality might have served very well for a dainty pic-nic of a couple of thousand epicures, the price also being so high.
Passing by the Bureau des Messageries Impériales, I called in to see about our places for the next day. I found an old friend, of fifteen years’ standing at least, atthe head of that department. “Ho! pardieu,” said he, “I thought it was you, having seen several paragraphs respecting your departure for the Crimea. I was afraid at one time you would have gone by sea. I have two first cabin berths for you to-morrow; but as you are a very gallant man, you will not mind sleeping upon deck from here to Smyrna.”
“Sleeping upon deck! what do you mean? My places have been taken this week past.”
“I know that—I have two first-cabin berths for you. How many cooks and attendants have you got with you?”
“We are about eight in number.”
“Oh, I can manage them then; although I assure you we are cramped everywhere.”
“What do you mean by my sleeping upon deck?”
“Why, because if you don’t, some of those ladies who are going to Smyrna must. Four of them must sleep upon deck, as all the places are taken; and I am sure you are too gallant to allow them to sleep in the open air while you remain snug in your cabin. Tell me, are you obliged to start with them?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then, wait for the next boat; it will not make forty-eight hours’ difference, and you will be very comfortable. You will go by Messina and Athens, and be there nearly as soon. Moreover, you will be rendering a great service to those ladies; besides, we should pack five or six persons in your cabin.”
“Very well, transfer our places.”
“The next vessel is quite new, and it will be her first voyage. She is most handsomely fitted up, and you will meet with capital company on board. All the first cabins are taken by English and French officers; you are sure to know some of them.”
“Very well; at what time shall we be here?”
“Be ready the day after to-morrow, about threeP.M., at the Hôtel d’Orient, where you are staying. I will send some men with a few cabs. Mind you have all your luggage ready.”
“I will. Many thanks for your kindness.”
The next day, after visiting several public institutions, I was very desirous to taste an excellent dish called the bouillabaisse, which is exclusively a Marseillaise dish, as turtle-soup and roast beef and plum-pudding are essentially English. I therefore invited a few friends to that far-famed place, the “Reserve.” Among my guests, I had the pleasure of numbering a most eminent, amiable, and gallant gentleman, Captain Taunton, who, a few weeks previous, I heard, had the temerity to run his ship, theFury, so close to the port of Sebastopol, that a round shot passed through her beam.
The Captain, my friend M. Giraldo, and myself, formed the trio of degustators of the Grand Provençale dish called the bouillabaisse, as well as another celebrated one called the olio. The first one I, with veneration and justice, recognised as worthy of being immortalized in the archives of cookery. The olio, like many of its companions, so admired by the Marseillais, is only to be appreciated by the inhabitants of that city, who must have sprung from a bed of garlic, instead of that more genteel and more sweetly-perfumed one, the parsley-bed—so well known to the juveniles, who are made to believe they were found ruralizing amidst that delicate aromatic plant.
The bouillabaisse pertains to Marseilles, as the whitebait to Greenwich and Blackwall. Even at Marseilles it is only at a few houses that you can get it in perfection, among which the celebrated “Restaurant de la Reserve” ranks as A 1, and next, the “Grand Hôtel des Colonies.”
After all, the “Reserve” is the principal place. This beautiful and picturesque restaurant, with its pavilion and slim turrets, is gracefully situated on the top of the high rock at the entrance of the old seaport. When required, the proprietor procures the particular fish alive, at the threshold of his door, and shell-fish required for the composition of this dainty dish.[7]In less than an hour—during which time we had partakenof a few small oysters, and some shell-fish peculiar to Marseilles—the bouillabaisse was upon the table, smoking hot, and perfuming the room with its aroma.
Although the bouillabaisse can be made with any kind of firm fish, in all countries, and at all seasons of the year, I should be deceiving my readers were I to say that it could be made in the same perfection as at Marseilles; nevertheless, it can be made good if the receipt is closely followed. The choice of fish for the purpose in England, although not as suitable as those of the Marseillaise coast, being of a different nature, will still produce an excellent, dainty dish.
Though thispetit déjeunerwas veryrecherché, the bouillabaisse threw all the accessory dishes into the shade. The landlord, who favoured us with his company at dessert, informed me he made it himself; and at my request, favoured me with the receipt, and the names of the fish composing it.
I returned my best thanks for the condescension and trouble on his part in so doing.
“Ah, Monsieur Soyer,” said he, “you may thank your name for that. I have often seen you mentioned in our papers, and should have been sorry if you had left our seaport without tasting our national dish in perfection.” He observed, in handing it to me, “You are, of course, aware that this dish cannot be made except at a seaport.”
“I am well aware of that fact,” I answered, “and that this semi-soup and stew ought, by right, to be made at a seaport; nevertheless, the finest seaport I have ever seen in England, and I might say in the world, for fish, is London; therefore, my dear sir, give me the receipt, and I shall, no doubt, fish out the fish from a good quarter.”
Original Receipt for the Bouillabaisse a la Marseillaise.Before entering upon details, I will specify the different kinds of fish most applicable. They are of two classes: one acting as a mucilaginous agent, the other merely imparting the flavour; also an essential point. The first class comprises—whitings, loups or lupins,red mullets, soles, and turbots. The second—gurnets, boudroies or boudreuils, lobsters or cray-fish, sea toads or rascasses, galinettes, limbers, lazagnes or lucrèces. These latter are plentiful in the Mediterranean seas.As a general rule, this ragoût should be cooked in a stewpan, rather broad than deep, and of thin metal, in order to the ebullition proceeding quickly. Those in tin or thin iron are the most appropriate, as the concoction must be done in a few minutes, and with such rapidity that the liquor must be reduced to the necessary point by the time the fish is cooked. It should also be sent to table and eaten at once, as the shortest delay will cause the quality to deteriorate. The principal fish must be cut in pieces or slices sufficiently sized to serve each guest; the others being merely accessories.Receipt.—Slice up two large onions, place them in a stewpan as before mentioned, wide but not deep, and of thin metal, add a few spoonfuls of olive oil, and fry the onions of a pale brown colour. Next, place the pieces of fish in the pan, cover them with warm water, but no more than the depth of the contents; add salt, “in moderation,” half a bay leaf, the flesh of half a lemon, without pips or rind, two tomatoes cut in dice, after extracting the seeds, a small tumbler of light white wine, a few peppercorns, and four cloves of garlic. Set on a fierce stove and boil for twelve minutes; by this time the liquor should be reduced to a third of its original quantity. Add a small portion of saffron, a table-spoonful of chopped parsley, allow it to boil a few seconds longer, taste, and correct the seasoning, if required, and remove from the fire.During this process you should have prepared two dozen of slices of light French bread or penny-roll, about half an inch in thickness, which place in a tureen or dish, pour over them some of the liquor from the ragoût, let it soak a minute or so, and again pour over in order to soak the top as well as the bottom of the layers of bread. Dish up separately the best pieces of fish with the remaining liquor, and serve.The variation called Bourride, differs in this only, viz., the addition of seven or eight yolks of eggs to a good portion of the liquor, which is stirred quickly over the fire till of the consistence of a custard cream, and then poured upon the slices of bread, with the addition of a tablespoonful of eau d’ail, or ayoli.The eau d’ail or ayoli is prepared by crushing several cloves of garlic, and saturating them with water; adding the requisite quantity to the bourride.My reason for printing this receipt, although partly impracticable in England, is, that it is the original as given to me by the worthy host of the “Reserve,” as so successfully made by him.But as many of the fish required are not to be obtained in England, and the quantity of garlic used would be objectionable to an English palate, I beg to refer my readers to theAddendafor a Bouillabaisse à l’Anglaise, which possesses two great qualities:—firstly, to suit the palate of thegourmet; secondly, that of beingvery strengthening. The broth is very generous and wholesome for the invalid,—for the authenticity of which assertion I appeal to the faculty.
Original Receipt for the Bouillabaisse a la Marseillaise.
Before entering upon details, I will specify the different kinds of fish most applicable. They are of two classes: one acting as a mucilaginous agent, the other merely imparting the flavour; also an essential point. The first class comprises—whitings, loups or lupins,red mullets, soles, and turbots. The second—gurnets, boudroies or boudreuils, lobsters or cray-fish, sea toads or rascasses, galinettes, limbers, lazagnes or lucrèces. These latter are plentiful in the Mediterranean seas.
As a general rule, this ragoût should be cooked in a stewpan, rather broad than deep, and of thin metal, in order to the ebullition proceeding quickly. Those in tin or thin iron are the most appropriate, as the concoction must be done in a few minutes, and with such rapidity that the liquor must be reduced to the necessary point by the time the fish is cooked. It should also be sent to table and eaten at once, as the shortest delay will cause the quality to deteriorate. The principal fish must be cut in pieces or slices sufficiently sized to serve each guest; the others being merely accessories.
Receipt.—Slice up two large onions, place them in a stewpan as before mentioned, wide but not deep, and of thin metal, add a few spoonfuls of olive oil, and fry the onions of a pale brown colour. Next, place the pieces of fish in the pan, cover them with warm water, but no more than the depth of the contents; add salt, “in moderation,” half a bay leaf, the flesh of half a lemon, without pips or rind, two tomatoes cut in dice, after extracting the seeds, a small tumbler of light white wine, a few peppercorns, and four cloves of garlic. Set on a fierce stove and boil for twelve minutes; by this time the liquor should be reduced to a third of its original quantity. Add a small portion of saffron, a table-spoonful of chopped parsley, allow it to boil a few seconds longer, taste, and correct the seasoning, if required, and remove from the fire.
During this process you should have prepared two dozen of slices of light French bread or penny-roll, about half an inch in thickness, which place in a tureen or dish, pour over them some of the liquor from the ragoût, let it soak a minute or so, and again pour over in order to soak the top as well as the bottom of the layers of bread. Dish up separately the best pieces of fish with the remaining liquor, and serve.
The variation called Bourride, differs in this only, viz., the addition of seven or eight yolks of eggs to a good portion of the liquor, which is stirred quickly over the fire till of the consistence of a custard cream, and then poured upon the slices of bread, with the addition of a tablespoonful of eau d’ail, or ayoli.
The eau d’ail or ayoli is prepared by crushing several cloves of garlic, and saturating them with water; adding the requisite quantity to the bourride.
My reason for printing this receipt, although partly impracticable in England, is, that it is the original as given to me by the worthy host of the “Reserve,” as so successfully made by him.
But as many of the fish required are not to be obtained in England, and the quantity of garlic used would be objectionable to an English palate, I beg to refer my readers to theAddendafor a Bouillabaisse à l’Anglaise, which possesses two great qualities:—firstly, to suit the palate of thegourmet; secondly, that of beingvery strengthening. The broth is very generous and wholesome for the invalid,—for the authenticity of which assertion I appeal to the faculty.
Giraldo now informed us it was past three o’clock, and that we must be on board by half-past six at latest. So shortly after, much to our regret, we left our worthy landlord and his sanctorum of good cheer, and at half-past four left the Hôtel d’Orient to go on board the steamer, accompanied by the gallant Captain Taunton, Mr. Giraldo, and a few other friends.
Upon arriving at the docks, a most painful sight fell under our notice; it was indeed a spectacle calculated to pain the soul of the greatest philosopher. The quays round the harbour were thickly lined with sick and wounded. There were about seven or eight hundred, who had just been landed from two French steamers, one from Constantinople, the other from the Crimea. Some were placed upon straw, others upon bedding, until they could be removed to the hospital, according to the nature of their cases. Their appearance, I regret to say, was more than indescribable. All the afflictions so common to the fate of war seemed to have met and fallen at once upon those brave fellows, who, a few months previous, were the pride of their country. Many of them, to their sorrow, had not enjoyed a chance of facing the enemy; while those who were wounded looked joyful compared with those who were the victims of epidemics—typhus fever, diarrhœa, dysentery, cholera, or frostbites. I conversed with several; not one complained, but merely regretted the friends who had died on the passage and those sick left behind, and bewailed that they had done so little for their country in the campaign. Mr. Giraldo, who had superintended the disembarkation, informed me that such scenes were of daily occurrence at Marseilles; adding, this must be very encouraging for you. Saying also in irony, “lend soldiers to the Turks—how well they thrive under the banner of Mahomet! Well, well, my dear sir, after all, this is nothing more than the fortune of war: ‘à la guerre comme à la guerre.’”
This was the first disastrous sight I witnessed in this great war, and though anything but encouraging, merelygrated upon my sensibility, without in the least affecting my mind. I must say T. G. showed much firmness upon this solemn occasion, which firmness rather failed him afterwards.
At five we were on the deck of theSimois, the name of our vessel. It was her first trip, she having only arrived a few days previous from Liverpool. All on board was in great confusion; a part of the vessel had just taken fire, and the sailors were engaged putting it out, and cutting away the burning portions; however, it was soon extinguished. We then learnt, that upon coming into dock she had met with serious damage, which they had scarcely had time to repair, and the painters were still on board busily employed varnishing the first cabin. I was next told that about four hundred troops, who were expected, had not arrived, and that we should start without them. A lady, who was standing by, exclaimed, “Oh, thank God for that! I cannot bear soldiers.”
“I thought,” I said, “it was a very bad job instead of a good one, as the vessel would be crank, through not being sufficiently loaded, and would in consequence roll very much.”
The weather being reported very rough outside, we were in suspense as to whether we should leave that night or not. On a sudden the screw slowly commenced its evolutions, and propelled us, not without difficulty, from the narrow port to the wide ocean—passing amongst huge rocks, on the very summit of which the furious waves were breaking. The evening was fast advancing, and the vessel was already rolling very heavily. We soon made the rock of Monte Christo, immortalized by Dumas. A yellowish sunset, piercing the heavy rain, faintly lighted the crest of this arid and uninhabitable spot. Shortly after, all was darkness, and many retired. Two or three remained till about ten o’clock, when the steward cheerfully informed us, that the weather was about the same as when theSemillantewas lost ten days before, and not a soul escaped. Nearly five hundred troops, besides passengers and crew, were drowned.
“Was she bound eastward?” inquired a passenger.
“Yes, sir, she was; we are steering the same course,but there is another passage. I hope we shall get through before night to-morrow, and if the sea holds as rough as it is now, no doubt we shall take the other.”
We all turned into our berths, laughing at his mournful tale. Before going, I said: “Believe me, steward, we are safer than ever, for you seldom hear of two accidents alike.”
“Very true, sir; but this boat seems unlucky. I can’t tell you all the mishaps we have had in her since I have been on board, and that is only one month.” She was then rolling at a tremendous rate. At each plunge, a fearful noise was heard. Upon inquiry, some one on board informed me that he believed they had projectiles for ballast, and these were rolling and shifting at each plunge the steamer made. Such a cargo, though quite in harmony with the martial trip, was anything but pleasing. Everything rolled and tumbled about fearfully during the whole of the night. At length day broke, with a glowing sun and a heavy sea running mountains high; so much so, that it was dangerous to attempt the passage. Such must have been the case, as the mail-boats are not allowed to stop except in cases of extreme danger. Our careful commander gave orders to bring up in the Bay of Ajaccio. After sixteen hours’ flirtation on the wild ocean, we entered this calm and peaceable port, much to the relief of all. We then collected round the table; and while partaking of a light lunch, we had time to become acquainted with each other. Among ourcompagnons de voyagewere General Cannon, Captain Arbuckle, Colonel St. George, of the Artillery, Captain Ponsonby, Major Turner, Captain Gordon, —— Murrogh, Esq., —— Ball, Esq., the Queen’s Messenger, and three or four French officers, among whom was Captain Boucher, aide-de-camp to General Canrobert, and afterwards to General Bosquet. After some remarks upon our unfavourable start, we all blessed our stars for the shelter we were then enjoying in the peaceable harbour, so picturesquely surrounded by its beautifulpetite ville, the cradle of the first Napoleon—Ajaccio—so well situated in that savage and energetic island of poetically ferocious heroism, habits, and eternal vendettas, so interesting to all since therevival of that illustrious dynasty in the person of Napoleon the Third.
All of course were anxious to visit this celebrated spot; and on inquiring of the commander, he told us he should sail the next morning early if the weather was more favourable. We formed ourselves into parties of five or six, and as it was only three o’clock, we had plenty of time before us: our greatest anxiety was to visit the house in which the great Napoleon was born. Our party arrived first, as we had a very clever guide, who promised if possible to introduce us to La Signora Grossetti, saying we should have a great treat, as the old lady, who was then eighty-three years of age, had been all her life in the Buonaparte family in Corsica. We luckily met the old lady just coming out, and upon being introduced, she immediately returned to do us the honours of the house. She has been housekeeper there for above thirty years. After visiting the apartments which are always on view—viz., the drawing-room, dining-room, concert and ball room, library, and the small bed-room in which that almost fabulous hero was born, I asked the old gentlewoman, as a special favour, to show me the kitchen. No one was ever more astonished than she appeared to be at my request. “Why, surely there is nothing to be seen there but ruins, and I don’t even know where the key is.”
All this redoubled my interest. We went up stairs, and found in an old drawer three rusty keys, which we brought down; one of them opened the door, which, on being pushed rather forcibly, fell from its hinges. We then descended, and opened the shutters, which likewise tumbled from their fastenings. After visiting the various departments which constitute a gentleman’s kitchen, I wrote upon the stove the following letter to the public press, which, through the mismanagement of my servant, who threw it into the post without paying the postage, never reached its destination:—
Twenty Minutes in the Kitchen of the House of the Emperor Napoleon the First.Mr. Editor,—It is an incontestable truism that “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good;” but in this case it will be found thereverse. Owing to most terribly rough weather, in fourteen hours from our departure from Marseilles,en routeto Constantinople, we are brought up here by our prudent Captain, sheltering us in the bosom of the harbour of Ajaccio, the birthplace of the alliance now existing between the two great nations of France and England. Such reminiscences of the first of the great Napoleon’s family caused the shore to be invaded in a few minutes by the numerous passengers, particularly the distinguished military men of both nations. Many visited the Hôtel de Ville, full of objects of interest, reminding one of the late empire; others, the Letitia House; and some inquired, with great coolness, if it were possible to see either of the Corsican Brothers now in existence. In a very few minutes my curiosity was gratified by a cursory examination of the above-mentioned interesting subjects; and by a great deal of courtesy and perseverance, I obtained from La Signora Grossetti (who had been in the late Emperor’s family from her infancy) the rusted key of the kitchen-door of that interesting and now deserted domicile—such a request having never before been made by the numerous travellers who daily visit it.And it is, Mr. Editor, while writing upon the stove in this celebrated kitchen—which first alimented the brain of that great hero—that I beg to address you the following few lines at random, as the weather bids fair and our departure is immediate. On my left hand is a well-constructed charcoal stove, containing six nine-inch square cooking-places, covered with glazed red tiles (a piece of which I have procured, and intend placing in my kitchen at Scutari); an oval one, about eighteen inches long by about six inches wide, on which the most delicious fish, game, meat, and poultry, were no doubt submitted to the highest perfection of the culinary art. At the spot at which I am now writing, the roasting by wood fire, and the broiling by red ashes, were carried on, as I perceive, by the remains of the hearth. There is also the old Jack, with the pulley that supported the rope and weights. On my right is an old semi-circular oven, partly in ruins, with an old-fashioned wrought-iron door, in which no doubt the cakes and choice pastry were prepared to gratify the imperial infant’s palate. Larders, confectionery, and all the requisite appointments of a kitchen are not wanting; which, though in a most dilapidated state, still left an appearance of grandeur which none but a family of distinction could afford—very different from what has been often reported and believed by the vulgar—viz., that this great man had his origin in the bosom of an indigent family.With the highest consideration, believe me, Mr. Editor, yours very faithfully,A. Soyer.March 13, 1855.
Twenty Minutes in the Kitchen of the House of the Emperor Napoleon the First.
Mr. Editor,—It is an incontestable truism that “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good;” but in this case it will be found thereverse. Owing to most terribly rough weather, in fourteen hours from our departure from Marseilles,en routeto Constantinople, we are brought up here by our prudent Captain, sheltering us in the bosom of the harbour of Ajaccio, the birthplace of the alliance now existing between the two great nations of France and England. Such reminiscences of the first of the great Napoleon’s family caused the shore to be invaded in a few minutes by the numerous passengers, particularly the distinguished military men of both nations. Many visited the Hôtel de Ville, full of objects of interest, reminding one of the late empire; others, the Letitia House; and some inquired, with great coolness, if it were possible to see either of the Corsican Brothers now in existence. In a very few minutes my curiosity was gratified by a cursory examination of the above-mentioned interesting subjects; and by a great deal of courtesy and perseverance, I obtained from La Signora Grossetti (who had been in the late Emperor’s family from her infancy) the rusted key of the kitchen-door of that interesting and now deserted domicile—such a request having never before been made by the numerous travellers who daily visit it.
And it is, Mr. Editor, while writing upon the stove in this celebrated kitchen—which first alimented the brain of that great hero—that I beg to address you the following few lines at random, as the weather bids fair and our departure is immediate. On my left hand is a well-constructed charcoal stove, containing six nine-inch square cooking-places, covered with glazed red tiles (a piece of which I have procured, and intend placing in my kitchen at Scutari); an oval one, about eighteen inches long by about six inches wide, on which the most delicious fish, game, meat, and poultry, were no doubt submitted to the highest perfection of the culinary art. At the spot at which I am now writing, the roasting by wood fire, and the broiling by red ashes, were carried on, as I perceive, by the remains of the hearth. There is also the old Jack, with the pulley that supported the rope and weights. On my right is an old semi-circular oven, partly in ruins, with an old-fashioned wrought-iron door, in which no doubt the cakes and choice pastry were prepared to gratify the imperial infant’s palate. Larders, confectionery, and all the requisite appointments of a kitchen are not wanting; which, though in a most dilapidated state, still left an appearance of grandeur which none but a family of distinction could afford—very different from what has been often reported and believed by the vulgar—viz., that this great man had his origin in the bosom of an indigent family.
With the highest consideration, believe me, Mr. Editor, yours very faithfully,
A. Soyer.
March 13, 1855.
KITCHEN AT AJACCIO OF NAPOLEON THE FIRST.KITCHEN AT AJACCIO OF NAPOLEON THE FIRST.
The old lady seemed much pleased with the very extraordinary interest I took in the place, and proposed to show us her private apartment at the top of the house,which she assured us was full of reminiscences of the Emperor’s childhood. His wooden arm-chair and desk, inkstand, and a few boy’s toys—such as a small gun, soldiers, shako, &c.—are carefully preserved by the old and faithful servant of her illustrious master. Though of great age, she was very animated, and made all sorts of inquiries about the war, and if we had seen the present Emperor; having satisfied her curiosity, we retired, highly pleased with our visit to Ajaccio.
We were much indebted to La Signora Grossetti, who had really shown us things that no former traveller could boast of having seen. I could not part with the old dame without saluting her on both cheeks, which she very kindly returned, it being the custom of the country, as she said. This scene terminated, much to the surprise and enjoyment of mycompagnons de voyage—Captain Gordon and Mr. Munro of the Ordnance, with several French officers—our interview with that kind and extraordinary lady.
I had taken (as I mentioned in my letter) a piece of tile from the charcoal stove, and a rough wooden meat-hook which I found in the larder, dating, as the Signora told me, from that epoch. Our time being short, and the night rapidly approaching, we re-embarked, and related, to the great delight of all, our amorous adventure with the nurse of the first Napoleon. All regretted not having been of our party. We spent a very charming evening on board, each one relating what he had seen. The Town Hall, I must observe, is very interesting, being filled with relics of the Buonaparte family, with full-length portraits of the father and mother of the Emperor. I was also much pleased at seeing one of the best statuettes of the latearbiter elegantiarum, the celebrated Count D’Orsay, given by him to the present Emperor for the town of Ajaccio. It is the well-known statuette of Napoleon the First on horseback; and in a frame beside it is the original letter of presentation written by the Count himself, which I can vouch for, “having many of his letters in my possession.” The style is so charming, that I regret not having had time to take a copy.
Next morning, with a fresh breeze, bright sun, and a clear sky, we left this immortal and delightful spot, where avenues of orange-trees, loaded with ripe fruit, ornament both sides of the streets; and at the same time, “by the bizarrerie of nature,” the chain of mountains which surround this romantic spot are always covered with snow. In ten minutes we were again launched upon the wide ocean. Though the sea was not so rough, the waves dashed about furiously, and made the vessel roll even more than the day before. This is always the case after a gale. We were all much amused at therestaurateurof the steamer, who kept cursing everybody, because all his glass and crockery were smashed to pieces; and all because, as he declared, the vessel had started before she had been properly fitted up. The Captain, in trying to soothe him, drove him raving mad, and he commenced throwing overboard all the plates, dishes, and glass on which he could lay his hands. At length he caught hold of a leg of mutton, and was about to serve it in the same manner. I happened to be near him, and not quite approving of casting good victuals overboard while at sea, I took upon myself to object to this part of his proceedings. I was the more induced to do this because I had promised my illustriouscompagnons de voyageto look after the cook and his cooking, with which he really took much pains, and gave us great satisfaction. The infuriated Marseillais poured a volley of the most foul language in his Provençal dialect, while he and I were holding the doomed leg of mutton. He then asked me who I was?
“A passenger,” I replied; “and one who has a most decided objection to your feeding the fish—with legs of mutton,” I continued, boldly. He then gave it up; and, in acknowledging he was in the wrong, exclaimed, at the top of his voice, “I wish you no harm, but I should be highly pleased if you and all in the steamer were at the bottom of the sea.”
“Wherefore?”
“You ask me wherefore! Because I shall lose above a thousand francs.”
COOKING ON THE MAGIC STOVE IN THE ACROPOLIS AT ATHENS.COOKING ON THE MAGIC STOVE IN THE ACROPOLIS AT ATHENS.
“The directors will make that up,” I said.
“Not a sous,” said he.
The comical part of this scene was enhanced by the continual rolling of the ship.
This incident kept us alive till we reached Messina. The following letter, addressed to theIllustrated London News, will explain my subsequent proceedings:—
Acropolis, Athens,March 18.Having left Marseilles, on the 12th inst., for Constantinople, in the prosecution of my mission to the Hospital at Scutari, owing to a sudden and unexpected change from a beautifully calm to a rough and stormy sea, M. Favre, the captain of our vessel (theSimois), was compelled to seek shelter in the peaceable harbour of Ajaccio, in Corsica, the birthplace of the immortal Emperor Napoleon I. Since our departure from that celebrated port, a favourable breeze succeeding a most tempestuous gale, soon brought us alongside the Levrazzi Rocks, on which the French frigateSemillantewas wrecked a few weeks ago, and all her passengers and crew lost. At night we were gratified with the sight of a slight eruption of the Stromboli Mountain, which rises immediately from the ocean to the height of several thousand feet. Next morning we arrived at Messina, the spring garden of Sicily, where, in the open air, orange and lemon trees were in full blossom, and covered with delicious fruit. Lilies, roses, and violets perfume the air; whilst peas, beans, artichokes, and asparagus are gathered at the foot of the lofty mountains covered with snow. Although Messina is well known to travellers, yet they are not so well acquainted with the productions of its early spring. After a few hours’ ramble in this interesting city, our party embarked, and rapidly passed on our left the small but pretty town of Reggio, and on our right the mighty Mount Ætna, covered with deep snow. In less than forty-seven hours theSimoisbrought us before the Piræus, the voyage never before having been accomplished under fifty.TheSimoisis an English vessel, built at Liverpool by Mr. Layward, and recently purchased by the Messageries Impériales, and this is her first voyage in this sea. From the unexpected quickness of our passage, we were allowed to remain at this port four hours, and availed ourselves of the opportunity of visiting Athens. At the present time, in the ancient Parthenon, I am cooking, with my new camp-stove, on a fallen capital of the stupendous ruins, apetit déjeûner à la fourchette, with Greek and Sicilian wines, for my distinguished fellow-travellers; amongst whom are General Cannon (Behram Pacha); Colonel St. George, of the Woolwich Artillery; Captain Gordon; Captains Turner and Ponsonby; G. Munro, Esq.; W. S. Ball, Esq., Q.F.M.S.; Captain Arbuckle; Captain Boucher, Aide-de-camp of General Canrobert; and Signor Pitaki, the Governor of the Acropolis.We shall speedily re-embark for Constantinople.A. Soyer.
Acropolis, Athens,March 18.
Having left Marseilles, on the 12th inst., for Constantinople, in the prosecution of my mission to the Hospital at Scutari, owing to a sudden and unexpected change from a beautifully calm to a rough and stormy sea, M. Favre, the captain of our vessel (theSimois), was compelled to seek shelter in the peaceable harbour of Ajaccio, in Corsica, the birthplace of the immortal Emperor Napoleon I. Since our departure from that celebrated port, a favourable breeze succeeding a most tempestuous gale, soon brought us alongside the Levrazzi Rocks, on which the French frigateSemillantewas wrecked a few weeks ago, and all her passengers and crew lost. At night we were gratified with the sight of a slight eruption of the Stromboli Mountain, which rises immediately from the ocean to the height of several thousand feet. Next morning we arrived at Messina, the spring garden of Sicily, where, in the open air, orange and lemon trees were in full blossom, and covered with delicious fruit. Lilies, roses, and violets perfume the air; whilst peas, beans, artichokes, and asparagus are gathered at the foot of the lofty mountains covered with snow. Although Messina is well known to travellers, yet they are not so well acquainted with the productions of its early spring. After a few hours’ ramble in this interesting city, our party embarked, and rapidly passed on our left the small but pretty town of Reggio, and on our right the mighty Mount Ætna, covered with deep snow. In less than forty-seven hours theSimoisbrought us before the Piræus, the voyage never before having been accomplished under fifty.
TheSimoisis an English vessel, built at Liverpool by Mr. Layward, and recently purchased by the Messageries Impériales, and this is her first voyage in this sea. From the unexpected quickness of our passage, we were allowed to remain at this port four hours, and availed ourselves of the opportunity of visiting Athens. At the present time, in the ancient Parthenon, I am cooking, with my new camp-stove, on a fallen capital of the stupendous ruins, apetit déjeûner à la fourchette, with Greek and Sicilian wines, for my distinguished fellow-travellers; amongst whom are General Cannon (Behram Pacha); Colonel St. George, of the Woolwich Artillery; Captain Gordon; Captains Turner and Ponsonby; G. Munro, Esq.; W. S. Ball, Esq., Q.F.M.S.; Captain Arbuckle; Captain Boucher, Aide-de-camp of General Canrobert; and Signor Pitaki, the Governor of the Acropolis.
We shall speedily re-embark for Constantinople.
A. Soyer.
Departure from Greece—Amusements at sea—The Dardanelles—Gallipoli—A philharmonic soirée—Approach to the Bosphorus—First view of the Scutari Hospital—Reflections—The deserted steamer—The lady and her maid—Beautiful scene—The Golden Horn—Castle of the Seven Towers—Kadikoi—General and Barrack Hospitals—Grand panorama—Various edifices—Stamboul—Grand Oriental pageant—The Sultan’s kitchens—The Harem—Punishment for Turkish ladies—The Leander Tower—A romantic tale—On shore again—The enchantment dissolves—First glimpse of a pacha—The terrace of my hotel.
Departure from Greece—Amusements at sea—The Dardanelles—Gallipoli—A philharmonic soirée—Approach to the Bosphorus—First view of the Scutari Hospital—Reflections—The deserted steamer—The lady and her maid—Beautiful scene—The Golden Horn—Castle of the Seven Towers—Kadikoi—General and Barrack Hospitals—Grand panorama—Various edifices—Stamboul—Grand Oriental pageant—The Sultan’s kitchens—The Harem—Punishment for Turkish ladies—The Leander Tower—A romantic tale—On shore again—The enchantment dissolves—First glimpse of a pacha—The terrace of my hotel.
ONleaving the Piræsus the weather was fine, and the sea as smooth as a lake. All our party were themselves again—jovial, happy, and talkative at meals; reading, writing, games at cards, draughts, dominoes, &c., filling up the time. We were like one happy and united family. I paid my daily visit to therestaurateurand hischef, with whom I was soon on good terms. Towards evening, we collected on the upper deck, where many French sous-officiers from the second-class cabin joined us, and sang most admirably, from the simple ballad to the gay gaudriole, the high operatic solo, and comic or classic choruses.
Next morning, we passed the straits and town of the Dardanelles, where the Allied flags were gaily floating from the houses of the respective Consulates. We made but a short stay in its cheerful and animated bay to deliver the mail. The rapid current, with the numbers of Greeks, in their gay costumes and slim caiques, trying to sell the passengers all sorts of things, and so do them out of a few piastres, rendered our short stay at that place highly amusing. Our next and last stay, before reaching Constantinople, was Gallipoli, where every one of our party landed, and remained on shore about anhour. General Cannon had an excellent idea; he sent some oysters on board, which made a good addition to our bill of fare. The Gallipoli oysters are small and ill-formed, but very sweet. The same cannot be said of the town and its inhabitants—both extremely dirty. Indeed, this first Oriental seaport contrasts most outrageously with the grand paraphernalia of the “Arabian Nights.” The evening before our arrival, to our sorrow, we learnt from the Captain that, owing to the favourable winds we had experienced during the last sixty hours, if nothing happened, we should enter the Bosphorus before daybreak. Thus all chance of the view of the grand panorama of Constantine, so highly praised by travellers, and especially by poets, which we had so long anticipated, was entirely lost. What can be more charming and refreshing, after a long sea-passage, where life has long been suspended in space between heaven and the mighty deep, than the gradual development of a cheerful panorama, a view of which we had been some time anticipating?
The first quarter of the moon, forming the crescent—the favourite emblem of the Moslem—was seen now and then peeping through the murky clouds, which, in their swift career, cast a dewy shadow upon the ocean. This did not, however, prevent our philharmonic party from mustering upon deck in greater numbers than on previous occasions, probably because it was the last. We kept it up till eleven o’clock, and then retired perfectly delighted with our voyage, having already forgotten our unfavourable departure, and regretting nothing but our too-early arrival in the Bosphorus. The night was calm, and, on going on deck at daybreak, I heard, to my great satisfaction, that we had proceeded very slowly all night, there having been a thick fog, which was slowly disappearing—“a thing,” said the Captain, “seldom seen in the sea of Marmora.” I returned to my cabin, and only lay down that I might be ready when Constantinople came in sight, as the Captain had promised to send and let me know.
About eight in the morning every one was on deck,and the crew busily engaged getting up the luggage, as our arrival was fixed for nine o’clock. We then commenced inquiring about the hotels. All fixed upon Messerie’s hotel, called “L’Hôtel d’Angleterre,” as being the best. By this time, we were slowly approaching the mouth of the Bosphorus. The weather was anything but favourable—rain kept falling—everything on deck was wet, and the air very chilly. General Cannon said to me, “I am very sorry, Mr. Soyer, for your sake, and that of Captain Ponsonby and Colonel St. George, that we shall not see the famed view of Constantinople to advantage. I have already witnessed it, this being my third voyage. However, as the weather is very changeable here, it may be a fine day after all.” The great Oriental City was then opening to view, but, owing to the thick atmosphere, appeared nothing but a confused mass. Twenty minutes later we were entering the Bosphorus, the grandeur and magnificence of which, though often described, I cannot pass without a few remarks.
My mind was quite overpowered when I learnt that the monster building before us was the Scutari Hospital—a town in itself—and I reflected that it was full of sick and wounded; that each patient would require from three to four articles of diet daily, making a total of several thousand per diem to be provided in some shape or other; and that I had undertaken to reform and introduce a better organization in the cooking department, where all was confusion, in so strange a country. I must confess that, for an hour or so, I was quite at a loss to think how I should commence operations. I did not know one official there. I had not the least idea how I should be received; and, after all, I might probably catch the fever, or some other complaint at the time raging within its walls. Suddenly I recollected the plan I had explained to the Duchess of Sutherland and her noble circle, which was to be tried upon a hundred patients. This had entirely escaped my memory; and in a few minutes my puzzled brain was as clear as a bell, and I felt confident of success. “If I succeed with a hundred,” said I, “in a very short time I can manage a thousand, providing I meet with proper support.”
I afterwards learnt from the doctor on board, that the large red brick building on the right, about half a mile from the Barrack Hospital, was called the General Hospital, in which there were at least five or six hundred patients. My resolution as to how I should act was then fixed; nothing appeared difficult to me; and, instead of fearing the undertaking, I was most anxious to begin. Having been advised to call at Pera, to announce my arrival, and pay my duty to Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, before going to Scutari, I ordered my people to go on shore as soon as possible; for, during my reverie upon hospital duties, our good vessel had anchored.
There was only room at Messerie’s Hotel for General Cannon and his aide-de-camp. He had bespoken his apartments. Two young gentlemen apprised us of the fact, and recommended their hotel, as we could not get accommodation at the “Hôtel d’Angleterre.” As I had a letter of introduction to Mr. Messerie, I directed my friend T. G. to call there and make inquiries; and if he found that we could not be received, to go to the “Hôtel des Ambassadeurs,” that establishment being the next in standing. As I promised to remain on board till he returned, I was left almost alone. There was only a lady and her maid. The former was going by a transport-ship the same evening, to join her husband at Balaklava; she therefore had no time to go on shore. Colonel St. George, Captains Ponsonby and Gordon, Mr. Ball, and General Canrobert’s aides-de-camp, and others, had all left.
By this time the weather had assumed a most brilliant aspect—the morose and monotonous-looking clouds, which before monopolised the region in the immediate vicinity of the famed city of Mahomet, had been chased away by a strong breeze; the sun shed his golden rays in gorgeous streams from the purple vault of heaven, and the utmost depths of the lucid waters of the Bosphorus reflected his splendours. The entrance of the Corne d’Or—so called, no doubt, because it takes theshape of a horn of plenty—is in truth a Golden Horn, from the facilities it affords for maritime and commercial intercourse, as well as navigation, penetrating, as it does, into the very bosom of the imperial city. Constantinople, like London, has no quays; and on every side this immense metropolis plunges its feet, or banks, into the Bosphorus, from which it rises, offering to the view the most magnificent spectacle beneath the canopy of heaven. This is particularly the case from the Seraglio Point, where the real city of Istamboul is seated. The soil rises from the level of the water, presenting a vast amphitheatre of myriads of houses, mosques, minarets, and monuments of all descriptions, intermixed with forests of sombre cypress trees.
A dragoman whom I engaged, and who spoke very good English, gave me a description of the surrounding scenery. Nothing can be more ravishing than the living panorama of the Bosphorus, covered with caiques and their caidjees, darting about on all sides like water-flies. The elegance of those frail barks, and the cleanliness of the light and cheerful costume of their owners, so well develops the Oriental style, that it cannot fail in forcibly striking every stranger. Numerous large sailing-vessels, steamboats, Greek and Turkish barques, and even men-of-war (many being then stationed in the Golden Horn), made me forget for some time my mobile panorama, to dwell upon the nautical one, which, so new to me, unexpectedly attracted my attention, when my dragoman informed me that it was near eleven o’clock, and that my men had returned for the luggage.
“Very well,” said I; “but pray explain to me the various places by which we are now surrounded.”
“Certainly, sir, with great pleasure. I know every spot, palace, and monument. On entering the Bosphorus this morning, you passed before the Castle of the Seven Towers, where the ambassadors were formerly imprisoned. Those islands to the left are the Isles des Princes. All the Europeans go and spend their Sundays there. In summer many reside there, and come to business in the morning, returning at night.”
“Those hills yonder, I suppose, are very pretty?”
“Oh, very much so indeed. Almost facing them is the Asiatic shore: that pretty place to the left is called Kadikoi—a very pretty summer residence, inhabited by rich merchants, particularly Greeks and Armenians. It is full of beautiful houses and gardens, and is much celebrated for its fine fruits. A little further this way is the General Hospital—that red brick building.”
“That I am aware of. And the other is the great Barrack Hospital, with its hundreds of windows and four square towers. They are full of English sick and wounded—that I of course knew.”
“Next to it is a splendid mosque called the Sultan’s mosque. It is frequented by his Majesty when he resides at his summer kiosque of Hyder Pacha. That forest of cypress trees is the grand Champ des Morts, or the favourite Turkish cemetery. It extends several miles. Several generations are buried there.”
“Well, what follows?”
“This beautiful and picturesque spot, sir, is called Scutari. It is full of kiosques and Turkish families, pachas, &c. It contains about a hundred thousand inhabitants, almost all Turks, and extends beyond the front of the Sultan’s new palace of Dolma Bachi. You can see it from here. It is not quite finished, and is constructed chiefly of white marble. Lower down is a palace inhabited by the Sultan. It is lighted by gas—quite a new thing in Constantinople. That large building above, on the heights, is the grand hospital of Pera, now used by the French; and all the neighbourhood as far as the pointed tower is called Pera, the Christian quarter, where are the foreign embassies and foreign merchants’ residences. The large yellowish building with the colonnade you see facing us so boldly is the Russian Embassy. They are about to convert it into a hospital for the sick French officers. The beautiful mosque and large square you see at the bottom is called Tophané. It contains a large cannon-foundry; and in the centre of the square is the kiosque belonging to the Sultan’s brother. His Majesty frequentlyvisits this place when he attends his favourite mosque.
“This large tower is called the Galata Tower, and from the top the fire-signal is made; and I can assure you that in the winter its guardians have something to do, as there is a fire every day or night. Lower down, towards the bridge, is called Galata, where all mercantile and commercial, as well as naval, business is transacted. Every rich merchant of Pera has a counting-house there. The building at the bottom is the Custom-house, or, as it should be called, the confusion-house; for if unfortunately you get goods in, ‘tis a hundred to one if you ever get them out again. The rough bridge you see yonder has only existed these last twenty years. Before that was built, people were obliged to cross from Stamboul to the European shore in caiques; and now, when three or four large vessels have to pass through the bridge, it remains open for several hours, keeping passengers waiting for that time. Two more light bridges lower down cross the Golden Horn, and the navigation terminates about two miles above the last bridge. In caiques you can go as far as the sweet waters of Europe, which are about five miles further up.”
“Thank you,” said I; “pray be less prolix in your descriptions.”
“Well, now, sir, as we are come to Stamboul, or the real city of Constantinople, allow me to explain to you the names of some of those beautiful mosques with which you see this vast city is crowded. The first and most important is the Mosque of Sultan Bajazid, very remarkable for the number of its volatile inhabitants, consisting of several thousands of beautiful tame pigeons. That high tower behind it is called the Seraskier’s Tower, and also serves the purpose of a signal-tower in case of fire, the same as that of Pera. Then follow the mosques of Sultan Selim, Mahomet, Sedya Tamissi, Solimaniek, Bayazid, Osmanliek, Sultan Achmet, Irene, and the great Saint Sophia, which I would in particular advise you to visit.”
“Of course I shall do that, you may be certain.”
“On the prominent part of this side of Saint Sophia the ceremony of the Bairam is celebrated, at the close of the great feast of the Ramazan. All the nobility of the Empire are in duty bound to appear in new and most gaudy costumes at this magnificent Oriental pageant, which this year will take place at the end of June, at about three o’clock in the morning.”
“What a singular hour for so great a ceremony!” I remarked.
“Oh, that cannot be helped,” he replied, “as it is regulated by the revolution of the moon. An old Turk, with whom I am well acquainted, told me that he recollected its having happened at twelve o’clock in the day, and in the middle of winter.”
“A strange custom,” said I.
“Well, sir, if you feel interested in Turkish habits and religion, you should inquire about the six weeks of Rhamadhan, when they starve all day, and get intoxicated to madness at night.”
“Thank you for your information; but pray continue your description.”
“I will. Near the very spot where this festival takes place is the Sultan Mahmoud’s palace, the top of which you can see through those high trees.”
“Pray, what are those rows of small domes, like well-corked bottles?”
“They are the kitchen chimneys.”
“What, all of them?”
“Yes, sir; I have often been there, and know well enough that, although the Sultan no longer inhabits it, two or three hundred men-cooks remain in the kitchens.”
“For what purpose, my friend, if no one lives there?”
“Oh, somebody does. I believe there is a college for some of the favourite sons of high Turkish families. Here,” he continued, “look at this uneven row of houses with lattices. Do you know what they are?”
“No; pray what are they?”
“Why, Sultan Mahmoud’s harem; and it is most probably still inhabited by a few of his old favourites and their suites, which are very numerous.”
“Well, upon my word, those species of châlets put me very much in mind of chicken-cages.”
The English officer’s wife, to whom I have before referred, and with whom I had some conversation during the passage, came upon deck while my dragoman was describing the surrounding scenery, and listened with vivid interest, taking notes of the most interesting passages. The dragoman, turning quickly round—“Madam,” said he, “you see that colossal spout shooting out at a sharp incline towards the water. That is the spot from whence, if any of the Turkish ladies prove disobedient or faithless to their imperial lord and master, they are stitched up in a sack alive, accompanied by a starving cat and a venomous serpent, and shot into that mighty watery grave, the Bosphorus.”
“Monsieur Soyer, do you think that is true?”
“I believe such things have been done, madam, for it was pointed out to me the first thing this morning as having been used for that purpose. I recollect some years since reading the same tale either in a French or English work; I believe it was French. At all events, European manners and customs are progressing throughout the world, and have even reached Turkey. I hear from every one, that the Sultan is a most amiable and humane man. I would therefore recommend you to reserve your look of horror and indignation for more modern calamities. You may be certain, if such things have happened, they will never happen again, for, thank Heaven, we live in a civilized era.”
“We should, perhaps, doubt such reports.”
“You are quite right, madam.”
“There is another curious tale related of the Leander Tower,” said the lady.
“There is; but my dragoman tells me the proper name for it isLa Tour de la Jeune Fille, as they say in French, or the Maiden’s Tower.”
“I was here when a French tutor came to Constantinople,” said my dragoman, “and the first thing he asked me was—‘Where is the Maiden’s Tower?’ as the English call it. At all events, madam, the story runs thus:—A great beauty, the daughter of some pacha, had her fortune told by a celebrated gipsy, who apprised her that she would never marry, as she was fated to die young. The girl, terrified at the prediction, ran, and in tears related to her father the fatal destiny said to be in reserve for her. He immediately sent for the old witch, and she repeated the fatal prophecy, adding, moreover, that the young girl would die from the bite of a serpent or some such venomous reptile. The pacha having repeatedly asked the old woman if that was the only kind of speedy death with which his daughter was menaced, and having received a reply in the affirmative, parted upon very friendly terms with the hag, who was possessed, as he said, by an evil spirit. He then caused this tower to be built for his daughter’s residence, and for several years she lived in this picturesque place, without being visited by any one but her father, who continually supplied her with provisions of the most delicate kind, and nosegays of the finest flowers. It happened one day, that, on taking up one of the bouquets in order to inhale the perfume, a small insect stung her on the lip, and in a few hours she expired in great agony, before any succour could be obtained, as there was no communication with the land, nor any antidote in readiness. So awful an event, in so secluded a spot, had never been contemplated. The pacha’s intention had been to keep his daughter there till she was of age to be married, and thus break the spell of the old sorceress. The legend was thus related to me by an Armenian gentleman who has lived here nearly all his lifetime.”
“Well, I admit that I have not only heard the story before, but I recollect the incident of the death of the young girl, from the bite of a reptile, very well; and I also heard that the name of the Tower of Leander is applied to it; but it has not the least relation to the legend of the two lovers celebrated by Lord Byron, who also swam from Sestos to Abydos.”
As my people had returned, and were waiting for me, I bade my faircompagnon de voyageadieu, expressing a hopeto have the pleasure of meeting her in Balaklava. Our two caidjees rapidly flew away with us from the side of theSimois, and soon landed us at the Tophané tumble-down stairs. We are now on shore; but what a contrast!—the fairy scene has disappeared, and we appear to be in the midst of a penny show. The Tophané landing place is nothing but a heap of rotten planks, parts of which have given way, and the holes are rather dangerous, as one might easily slip and break a leg. The very clean and picturesque caidjees are waiting amidst heaps of manure and the carcase of a dead horse, which had been thrown into the Bosphorus and had drifted on shore. A number of ill-looking, half-famished dogs were feeding upon that heap of corruption. On inquiring of the son of the proprietor of the hotel, who accompanied me, he coolly told me that it had only been there a day or two, and would probably remain for months—particularly the skeleton—when the dogs had devoured all the flesh. The odour arising from the carcass, and the filth daily cast into the water, was very unwholesome, and quite unbearable; and very glad was I to quit the great landing-place of Tophané—so called, no doubt, from the extraordinary amount of daily traffic between the shipping above and the Asiatic shore. About seventy or eighty caiques are always waiting there, as it is the principal landing point at Constantinople.
Following my guide, we passed through a number of dirty narrow streets, full of a black liquid mud, very ill paved—if they could be called paved at all, amidst which numerous leperous and villanous-looking dogs were snarling and fighting. Donkeys loaded with tiles, stones, and long logs of wood filled up the filthy road; besides gangs of powerful and noisy Turkish hamals or porters, carrying enormous loads upon long poles. The enchanting mirage of the panoramic Constantinople vanished rapidly from before my disenchanted eyes; this ephemeral Paradise of Mahomet changing at once into an almost insupportable purgatory. I could not imagine how such a mass of ruins and of miserable wooden houses could, from so short a distance, take such a brilliant aspect or createsuch ravishing sensations, as the first view of Constantinople had raised in my mind from the deck of theSimois. I now envied the fate of our fair fellow-traveller who so much regretted that she could not disembark—were it only for a few hours. Those few hours, nay, the first, would have sufficed to break the spell. Reader, though this is an exact description of our entrance into Constantinople, I reasoned thus—It is an immense metropolis, and no doubt something great exists within its walls. I must wait patiently and try to find it out.
Reproaching my dragoman for bringing me through such a vile part of the city, he quietly replied, in English, “There is no other road, sir; it has rained very much lately, which is the cause of so much mud.” I now perceived, that as far as the names of pavements go, the difference between Constantinople and London was not so great,—the former beingmuck-muddy-mised, and the lattermacadamised.
At this moment we were turning the corner of the Grand Mosque of Sultan Soliman; and a pacha, in all his obesity, mounted upon an Arabian horse, and followed by his suite, six in number, rode full gallop through a pond of liquid slush, splashing every one from head to foot on either side the narrow street. An English soldier at once sent him his military blessing; and the Turk, spurring his horse, exclaimed, “Not Bono Johnny; Not Bono Johnny;” that being the name given to the English by the Turks. After passing through several similar streets, consisting of ruinous wooden shanties and shops of the lowest order, “viz., chibouque tube and pipe-bowl makers,” the interior of which were dirty and mean, with scarcely any kind of stock, we arrived at a fountain, in front of which was a semi-perpendicular and narrow street. My guide informed me that my hotel was at the end of this street. “It is,” he continued, “the Hôtel d’Angleterre, called by the English—Messerie’s Hotel.”
“Thank God for that,” said I. In about twenty minutes we arrived at the said hotel. As I had sent my letter to Mr. Messerie, he soon appeared, and verycordially shook me by the hand, and politely expressed his regret at not being able to accommodate me. He recommended the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs. On my saying that I was going there, he made me promise to call upon him the next morning, the distance from his house being but a few paces.
When I arrived, I at once retired to my apartment, quite worn out with fatigue. Having taken some refreshment, I made up my mind not to dine at the table d’hôte. I learnt that Colonel St. George, Captain Ponsonby, &c., had gone to the Hôtel de l’Europe, and I therefore felt free for that evening. About five o’clock, Mons. Pantaleone Veracleo, a young Greek, the son of the hotel-keeper, came and informed me that the table d’hôte would be ready at six. Thanking him for his attention, I proceeded to ask several questions about Constantinople, and also the distance from the hotel to the British Embassy?
“Not five minutes’ walk, sir,” said he; “you can see it from the top of the hotel. Our house is the highest in Pera!”
We mounted to the terrace, and my conductor pointed it out to me. From this terrace I again beheld a similar panorama to that which I had witnessed on board theSimois, and by which I had been so much charmed. In order to enjoy it fully, I expressed my desire to remain a short time alone. Having directed my attention to the different points of view, Mr. Veracleo left me.