A few minutes’ walk brought us outside of the town. An extensive Turkish grave-yard lay on the left. Between fig-trees and blackberry bushes it was a green spot, and the low tombstones of the men, crowned each with a turban carved in marble of the shape befitting the sleepers rank, peered above the grass like a congregation sitting in a uniform head-dress at a field-preaching. Had it not been for the female graves, which were marked with a slab like ours, and here and there the tombstone of a Greek, carved after the antique, in the shape of a beautiful shell, the effect of an assemblage sur l’herbe would have been ludicrously perfect.
We walked on to the Scamander. A ricketty bridge gave us a passage, toll free, to the other side, where we sat round the rim of a marble well, and ate delicious grapes, stolen for us by a Turkish boy from a near vineyard. Six or seven camels were feeding on the uninclosed plain, picking a mouthful and then lifting their long, snaky necks into the air to swallow; a stray horseman, with the head of his bridle decked with red tassels and his knees up to his chin, scoured the bridle path to the mountains; and three devilish looking buffaloes scratched their hides and rolled up their fiendish green eyes under a bramble-hedge near the river. Voila! a scene in Asia.
The poets lie, or the Scamander is as treacherous as Macassar. Venus bathed in its waters before contending for the prize of beauty adjudged to her on this very Mount Ida that I see covered with brown grass in the distance. Her hair became “flowing gold” in the lavation. My friends compliment me upon no change after a similar experiment. My long locks (run riot with a four months’ cruise) are as dingy and untractable as ever, and, except in the increased brownness of a Mediterranean complexion, the cracked glass in the state-room of my friend the lieutenant gave me no encouragement of a change. It is soft water, and runs over fine white sand; but the fountain of Callirhoe, at Athens (she was the daughter of the Scamander, and like most daughters, is much more attractive than her papa), is softer and clearer. Perhaps the loss of the Scamander’s virtues is attributable to the cessation of the tribute paid to the god in Helen’s time.
The twilights in this part of the world are unparalleled—but I have described twilights and sunsets in Greece and Italy till I am ashamed to write the words. Each one comes as if there never had been and never were to be another, and the adventures of the day, however stirring, are half forgotten in its glory, and seem in comparison, unworthy of description; but one look at the terms that might describe it, written on paper, uncharms even the remembrance. You must come to Asia and feel sunsets. You cannot get them by paying postage.
At anchor, waiting for a wind. Called to day on the Bey Effendi, commander of the two castles, “Europe” and “Asia,” between which we lie. A pokerish-looking dwarf, with ragged beard and high turban, and a tall Turk, who I am sure never smiled since he was born, kicked off their slippers at the threshold, and ushered us into a chamber on the second story. It was a luxurious little room, lined completely with cushions, the muslin-covered pillows of down leaving only a place for the door. The divan was as broad as a bed, and, save the difficulty of rising from it, it was perfect as a lounge. A ceiling of inlaid woods, embrowned with smoke, windows of small panes fantastically set, and a place lower than the floor for the attendant to stand and leave their slippers, were all that was peculiar else.
The Bey entered in a few minutes, with a pipe-bearer, an interpreter, and three or four attendants. He was a young man, about twenty, and excessively handsome. A clear, olive complexion, a moustache of silky black, a thin, aquiline nose, with almost transparent nostrils, cheeks and chin rounded into a perfect oval, and mouth and eyes expressive of the most resolute firmness, and at the same time, girlishly beautiful, completed the picture of the finest-looking fellow I have seen within my recollection. His person was very slight, and his feet and hands small, and particularly well shaped. Like most of his countrymen of later years, his dress was half European, and much less becoming, of course, than the turban and trowser. Pantaloons, rather loose, a light fawn-coloured short jacket, a red cap, with a blue tassel, and stockings, without shoes, were enough to give him the appearance of a dandy half through his toilet. He entered with an indolent step, bowed, without smiling, and throwing one of his feet under him, sunk down upon the divan, and beckoned for his pipe. The Turk in attendance kicked off his slippers, and gave him the long tube with its amber mouth-piece, setting the bowl into a basin in the centre of the room. The Bey put it to his handsome lips, and drew till the smoke mounted to the ceiling, and then handed it, with a graceful gesture, to the commodore.
The conversation went on through two interpretations. The Bey’s interpreter spoke Greek and Turkish, and the ship’s pilot, who accompanied us, spoke Greek and English, and the usual expressions of good feeling, and offers of mutual service, were thus passed between the puffs of the pipe with sufficient facility. The dwarf soon entered with coffee. The small gilded cups had about the capacity of a goodwife’s thimble, and were covered with gold tops to retain the aroma. The fragrance of the rich berry filled the room. We acknowledged, at once, the superiority of the Turkish manner of preparing it. It is excessively strong, and drunk without milk.
I looked into every corner while the attendants were removing the cups, but could see no trace of a book. Ten or twelve guns, with stocks inlaid with pearl and silver, two or three pair of gold-handled pistols, and a superb Turkish cimetar and belt, hung upon the walls, but there was no other furniture. We rose, after a half hour’s visit, and were bowed out by the handsome Effendi, coldly and politely. As we passed under the walls of the castle, on the way to the boat, we saw six or seven women, probably a part of his harem, peeping from the embrasures of one of the bastions. Their heads were wrapped in white, one eye only left visible. It was easy to imagine them Zuleikas after having seen their master.