A Chapter on Caïques—The Sultan’s Barge—Princes and Pashas—The Pasha’s Wife—The Admiralty Barge—The Fruit Caïque—The Embassy Barge—The Omnibus Caïque—Turkish Boatmen—The Caïque of Azmè Bey—Pleasant Memories—The Chevalier Hassuna de Ghies—Natural Politeness of the Turks—Turkey and Russia—Sultan Mahmoud—Confusion of Tongues—Arif Bey—Imperial Present—The Fruit of Constantinople—The Two Banners—The Harem—Azimè Hanoum.
Should I ever have time, I murmured to myself as we darted down the Bosphorus in the caïque of Azmè Bey, with whom we were engaged to dine, and who had obligingly sent his boat and his Dragoman to facilitate our arrival at Dolma Batchè:—Should I ever have time, I will write a chapter on caïques.
A more graceful subject could scarcely be selected. From the gilded barges of the Sultan, to the common passage-boat that plies within the port, the caïques are all beauty; and, as they fly past you, their long and lofty prows dipping downward towards the current at every stroke of the oars, you are involuntarily reminded of some aquatic bird, moistening the plumage of its glistening breast in the clear ripple.
That bright mass of gilding and glitter which is flying over the water, shaped like a marine monster, and gleaming in the sunshine, is one of the Imperial barges. Mahmoud is returning from the mosque. Hark! to the booming of the loud cannon, which announces his departure from the coast of Europe, for his delicious summer-palace of Beglierbey; the most lovely (for that is the correct term)—the most lovely object on the Bosphorus—rising like the creation of a twilight dream beneath the shadow of an Asian mountain—a fanciful edifice, looking as though its model had been cut out of gold paper in an hour of luxurious indolence, and carried into execution during a fit of elegant caprice.
The long, dark, crescent-shaped caïque immediately in the wake of the Sultan, with its three gauze-clad rowers, and its flashing ornaments, carries a Pasha of the Imperial suite. He is hidden beneath the red umbrella which the attendant, who is squatted upon the raised stern of the boat, is holding carefully over him.
You may see a third bark, just creeping along under the land; a light, buoyant, glittering thing, with a crimson drapery fringed with gold flung over its side, and almost dipping into the water; a negress is seated behind her mistress, with a collection of yellow slippers strown about her; and at the bottom of the boat, reclining against a pile of cushions, and attended by two young slaves, you may distinguish the closely-veiled Fatma or Leyla, whose dark eyes are seen flashing out beneath her pure white yashmac, and whose small, fair, delicately rounded, and gloveless hand draws yet closer together the heavy folds of her feridjhe as she remarks the approach of another caïque to her own. She is the wife of some Pasha—the favourite wife, it may be—musing as she darts along the water, with what new toy her next smile shall be bought. And now her light boat is lost to view, for it has shot beneath the arched entrance of the court of yonder stately harem; and you can only follow the fair Turk in thought to the cool, shady, spacious saloons of her prison-palace, where the envious yashmac is withdrawn in deference to the yet more jealous lattice; and where the heavy feridjhe is flung off to reveal the graceful antery, the gold-embroidered vest, and the hanging sleeves.
But what is this which is advancing towards us with a heavy plash, and flinging its long broad shadow far before it? It is the Admiralty Barge, manned with fourteen rowers, and freighted with His Excellency Achmet Pasha, bound on some mission to the fleet. The red caps and white jackets of the crew form a cheerful contrast from the dark mass at the stern of the barge, where the High Admiral, pro tempore, is seated, surrounded by a group of inferior officers. His chibouk-bearer is screening him from the sun; while his secretary, with a sheet of paper resting upon his knee, is writing from the dictation of the Minister. There is a great deal of business transacted on the Bosphorus; the Turks never require a table on which to write, and they are consequently but little inconvenienced by locality, when a necessity exists for profiting by the passing hour.
And this slowly-moving bark, rather dropping down with the current, than impelled by the efforts of its two Greek rowers, and which looks so cool and so pretty with all that pile of green leaves heaped upon its stern, is one of the fruit caïques for the supply of the houses overhanging the Bosphorus. The wild shrill cry of the fruiterers announcing the nature of their merchandize, swells upon the air; and, as you pass close beside the boat, the wind sporting among the fresh branches that are strewn over the baskets, blows aside the leaves, and the tempting fruit is revealed to you in all its cool ripe beauty.
And yonder flies the Union Jack of England! It is the splendid barge of the British Embassy, which is darting along with its seven rowers: the Ambassador is engaged with a newspaper: you may know him by his purple fèz, as well as by an aristocracy of bearing and demeanour which distinguishes him from all the foreign ministers at the Ottoman Court; and which the Turks both feel and appreciate.
Very different both in form and freight is the dark, slow, people-laden passage-caïque, just coming round the point, and which is one of several that ply between Constantinople and Buyukdèrè; and carry passengers the whole length of the Bosphorus at the moderate charge of thirty paras a head, a sum scarcely equivalent to twopence English. These Omnibus-boats have their outside as well as their inside passengers: and the individuals who sit upon the gunwale, with their legs hanging over the side, and their feet resting upon the spar which is lashed on to it for their especial convenience, effect, by the occupation of this amphibious seat, the saving of ten paras upon a voyage of about four hours.