A little above Galata, on the Bosphorus, is a Turkish quarter called Top-hané, or the department of ordnance, through which access is usually obtained to Pera. The most busy and varied scene is constantly presented to the eye at this quay. The graceful cayiks with their delicately pointed prows lie on all sides, some waiting for the convenience of passengers, and others engaged in disembarking their living freight. It is wonderful to observe the dexterity of cayikgees. Now, a single boatman pushes up his slender craft, and succeeds in gaining just space enough to slip in, so closely packed are the boats all around. It may be some lonely veiled woman who is safely landed. Anon arrives the large omnibus cayik, as completely stored with live stock as the New York avenue cars on a Sunday.
The boatmen vociferate, and shove alongside in spite of all their competitors; the motley group of passengers, Mussulmans, Armenians, Greeks, Jews, Franks, all huddled together, move not, speak not, but fasten their eyes upon the shore, with the firm conviction, that as they were safely landed the day before, they will be equally successful to-day. A prolonged, shrill musical cry, ya-lu-nuz! hushes every other sound; there is a simultaneous movement among the cayiks, a moment’s pause in the hurrying crowd on shore, as way is made for the embassy boat with its gilded prow, flying colors, and five pair of oars. The Eltchy-Bey! is whispered from ear to ear.
Even the beautiful canopied boat of the sultan sometimes passes this way; propelled by twenty-eight men, it rapidly glides over the waters, with the regular music of the plashing oars. The cannon peals forth a royal salute from the shore, and the landing of Top-hané resumes its bustling appearance.
Thousands of men, women, and children, are daily landed here, of every rank and clime, and doubtless, in each bosom one similar emotion, for a moment displaces all others: gratitude for the footing gained; then rushes in the vast tide of human hopes, cares and anxieties. The platform upon which they step, is wretchedly out of repair; the keahya, who gains a slender pittance by holding the boats from which so many are safely landed, is invariably a trembling old man; and as the crowd necessarily jostle each other, it is astonishing that there are so few accidents. But Oriental self-possession has its careful measured gait, and it is rarely that any stumble, though Turkish indifference leaves cracks, crevices, and chasms in yawning boldness. There is a large open area, just after you land; apparently Nature’s great warehouse, solid ground for a foundation and the vault of heaven for a roofing. Along the shore lie numberless small coasters, whose crews and cargoes are alike begrimed with darkness, for they have come down from the Black Sea to supply the city with charcoal, the ordinary fuel; and immense piles of wood proclaim the demolition of forests of trees.
There, too, is a great market place, or rather a centre of attraction to the venders of various merchandise, whom time and custom have established in their prerogatives, for there is no building whatever for the convenience or protection of this sort of commerce. Here, then, in the open air, are butchers, green-grocers, fishmongers, bakers, fruiterers, and basket-makers, an epitome of practical life. But here too, is the mosque, the minaré, and the fountain, carrying away in its limped flowing, impurities both spiritual and physical.
This fountain is a beautiful specimen of Oriental architecture. It is an edifice about 30 feet square, built of pure white marble. Beneath the cornice which surrounds the roof is a border of arabesque characters, richly gilt, and from each side the water flows into a marble basin.
Not far from this fountain is a cluster of small shops, for the sale of Kebabs, tobacco, bonbons, and also many small Kahvés.
The Kebabs are small pieces of mutton, passed on iron skewers, and roasted over fires of ignited charcoal, and, though the establishments are small, they are constantly filled with groups, who surrounding the copper dishes, seem to attest the excellence of the viands. After satisfying the more imperative calls of nature, a visit to the tetune-gee, or tobacco merchant, is inevitable; for not to mention the almost hourly use of the far-famed weed, this luxury must always succeed every other repast. Then a moment of kief at the coffee shop, the fumes of the chibouque, a sip of mocha’s berry, a little neighborly chit-chat, or it may be a business rendezvous, and you are ready to proceed up the steep hill to Pera. Some mount their own horses, which the grooms hold in attendance, others avail themselves of the more jaded looking animals who are waiting to be hired, and sometimes the Turkish ladies,—rather antiquities of the species, deliberately mount the leather hunch on the Hamal’s back, and they too ride up, while others still are obliged, either from a lack of a like independence, or other stringent motives, to go on Shank’s mare. Those who do not ascend the hill, disperse in various directions through the many narrow by-ways which diverge from the great area.
Pera is the Elysium of shop-keepers, the very essence of à la Franga, the Bey-oghlu or dwelling-place of Princes, the rendezvous of Ministers Plenipotentiary, Ministers resident, Consular dignitaries, secretaries of Legations, Dragomans, Attachés, and all the élite of society—a swarming hive of Diplomacy—only get inside of the hive, even as drone, and you are comme il faut. There is a certain imposing, mysterious, impenetrable air about every member of this haute noblesse—each one is full of importance, each one is condescending to the other; all are on the qui vive for a stray word, an echo of the all-important diplomatic measures of their rivals; all are cautious not to betray by look or action any embryo intrigues or manœuvres. Thus social intercourse consists of gracious words, unmeaning civilities, and mutual distrust and suspicion.
Those who have been born in Pera, and others who have been bred there, have one and all become so very diplomatic that conversation ordinarily dwindles into monosyllables, general inquiries after health, and prognostics of the weather.