On one of those November evenings which tinge the sky with delicate and glowing roses, just when the countless minarets of the mosques of Constantinople were fading into the night come unexpectedly, the barques stopped at Topkhana. A sedan-chair for Lady Hester, and for the others the walk through the steep and mountainous streets. The lugubrious barking of the famished dogs wandering, in bands, in the deserted quarters, the capricious flame of the lantern which precedes the caravan, sometimes lighting up old leprous houses, at others throwing into the shadow gardens of which hardly a glimpse could be had—it was Pera.
What long strolls in the narrow streets in which the absence of carriages made the voices sound strangely! Passing between the double hedge of merchants who seemed to watch purchasers from the depths of their shops like spiders crouching in their webs, Lady Hester and her friends had the impression of moving about under the jeering eyes of a row of servants.
One Friday, an Amazon calmly traversed the streets of Constantinople. She was Lady Hester, who was on her way to attend the procession of the Sultan Mahmoud so far as the mosque, and had found this convenient means to avoid being annoyed by the populace, dirty and dusty, as could possibly be desired. It was the first time that a woman, a European, with face uncovered, promenaded thus equipped. It was necessary to be of the stamp of Lady Hester, to have her contempt of opinion, her disdain of social conventions, her insensate desire to get herself talked about, her love of sensation, to attempt so bold an enterprise. It was necessary to possess her tall figure, her impressive countenance, her manly appearance, to succeed and pass without insults. The spectacle, besides, was worth this risk.
Janissaries, in brand-new uniforms, keep in check the crowd while the police distribute the blows of "Korbach." First came some dozens of water-carriers, spilling in the dust the sacred liquid, without any stint. Then a confused and important mass of servants, equerries, executioners. Then, surrounded by footmen, mounted on a horse magnificently caparisoned, a man with a proud and distant air, wearing a dark beard. "Here is the Sultan!" exclaimed the doctor and his friends. But it was only the officer who bore the Sultan's footstool.... The mistakes are repeated for the sword-bearer and the pipe-bearer. "This time, it is he!" Not yet. And the Captain Pacha, the Reis Effendi, the Kakliya Bey, the Grand Vizier, enveloped in their priceless pelisses, the hilts of their khandjars blazing with diamonds and throwing sparks, pass nonchalantly on their chargers, which are half-crushed beneath the weight of the harness, casting on the people bored glances.
On a sudden, there came the most profound silence, a silence mournful, heavy, uneasy, and a singular murmur, monotonous and plaintive, like the voice of the swell beating against the cliffs, rose from the prostrate crowd—all these men, bringing the folds of their robes over their chests with a concerted gesture, called down the blessings of Mahomet on the Commander of the Faithful. And Mahmoud passed.... His escort, dressed in garments of brocade plaited with golden and silver threads and wearing plumed helmets, surrounded him with a rampart of fluttering and nodding plumes and hid his person from the generality of mortals. His stallion, of a snowy whiteness, disappeared beneath the saddle-cloths and gala trappings which were studded with mother-of-pearl and pearls and multi-coloured gems. The crowd rose again; Kislar Aga, the Minister of Pleasures—happy Minister!—a hideous negro with a bestial countenance, followed, surrounded by a hundred eunuchs, both black and white. A bunch of eunuchs! Finally, a dwarf preceded three hundred pages of haughty bearing, clad, in white satin.
After spending a few days at Constantinople, Lady Stanhope abandoned her house at Pera, which was too small, for a villa at Therapia. The waves of the Bosphorus came to beat against the walls, and afar off the transparent wintry light bathed the Asiatic coast and the shores of the Black Sea. The visitors were numerous: Stratford Canning, English Ambassador at the Sublime Porte; Mr. Henry Pearce, a friend of Bruce; Mr. Taylor, who arrived from Egypt and Syria; Lord Plymouth and many others. Constantinople was very gay; receptions and balls followed one another, and only the dragomans, in their parti-coloured costumes, gave to them an Oriental tinge. For the Turks rarely mix with Europeans, fearing the length of their meals and the use of wine.
The doctor, upon whom his profession conferred special privileges, received invitations from the Captain Pacha's medical attendant. Meals which might nourish the vanity, if not the stomach. The fare was not bad, but scarcely was a dish placed upon the table than diligent servants pounced upon it and carried it away. And then the clear water, however pure and fresh it might be, was not a beverage which was long endurable.
Lady Hester was soon on a footing of intimacy with several distinguished Turks. "One ought to see them," she wrote, "seated under the trees of a public promenade, not distinguishing the Greek, Armenian or European women, but looking at them en bloc like sheep in a meadow." She invited the Captain Pacha's brother to dinner, and, very quickly familiarised with the use of knives, forks and chairs, he spent more than half an hour at table—which is a great concession for a Turk—ate of everything, including the good substantial English roast joints and the heavy greasy puddings, enjoyed three or four glasses of wine and appeared enchanted with all that his hostess offered him. It was true that the hostess was not an ordinary one.
To charm her hours of leisure which all these occupations did not contrive to fill, she went to visit the ships of the Turkish fleet, in the dress of an officer. She wanted to see everything, examined everything in detail, ferreted everywhere and returned delighted with her expedition. To one of her friends, who, shocked at her masculine garments, took the liberty of reproaching her on the subject, she retorted with her customary impetuosity: "Breeches, a military cloak and a hat with a plume are no doubt a more indecent costume than that of your fine madams half-naked in their ball dresses."
From February the weather abruptly changed. Never was English spring more severe. There was a foot of snow, and Lady Hester suffered cruelly from the cold, for the brasiers which they carried about from one room to another did not give even the illusion of warmth. She had a wild desire to leave for Italy or for France, desire so much the more ardent that the English were forbidden to enter these countries. She left no stone unturned to approach M. de Latour-Maubourg, the French Ambassador at Constantinople. It was a difficult task, for relations between French and English were so strained that it was forbidden, even to private individuals of the two nations, to have any intercourse with each other. Lady Hester was like one of those thoroughbreds of which William Pitt spoke. You are able to guide them with a hair and their pace is regular and easy, but if you thwart them, they rear and become furious. The obstacles excited instead of stopping her. She swore that she would see M. de Latour-Maubourg, and she kept her word. She took long walks through the Turkish country and rambled in the inextricable alleys of Pera to throw off the scent of the spies whom Canning, become suspicious, had launched in pursuit of her, poor devils who had never been accustomed to such rough work. One day, when she was going to join the French Ambassador on the shores of the Bosphorus, she was followed ... On the morrow, Canning asked her: