English and Americans who are enamoured of what has come to be internationally known as “high life,” and whose limited means may not admit of their rubbing shoulders with the diplomatic world in Paris or London, cannot do better than take a trip to Constantinople in the height of the winter season of that gay, pleasure-loving city. Furnished with a few decent introductions, the chances are that they will see something of fashionable life without being called upon to make any “frais de représentation”! There is Oriental lavishness in the mode of entertainment. Something of Turkish generosity in the way of hospitality has become engrafted on to the Christian elements, and invitations to Ambassadorial dinners and balls are not beyond the reach of the travelling English who at home have never come nearer to the regions of fashion than South Kensington or Brompton. Should these advantages, however, be unattainable, a stray guinea or two as a subscription to one or other of the various charity balls given by different nationalities in the town will suffice to ensure social contact with the cosmopolitan financial and diplomatic world. These balls under Ambassadorial patronage and presidency are unique, the more so since they take place in the capital of a people which does not dance. Sometimes it is a fancy-costume ball, at other times one in evening dress, with the military and naval attachés of the different Powers in full uniform. Such an entertainment affords a vivid picture of cosmopolitan life, the atmosphere being that of the Levant and endowed with an articulate abandon, obsolete under our more sedate social conditions. To see the guests arrive is a curious sight. A regular pandemonium of shouts, shrieks, and curses proceeds from the Turkish arabadjis lashing their restive steeds as the carriages jostle each other in front of the building. A unique feature of a past age consists of a few old-fashioned sedan-chairs, from which ladies emerge.
Inside, the building swarms with attachés d’ambassade, representative of every imaginable nationality. British, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Persian, Servian, Roumanian, Bulgarian, Montenegrin, Greek, not to forget the Levantine ruck of no exact nationality, are gathered together here, but no Mohammedan Turks. Such a ball is a rare treat for the dark-eyed Perote débutantes, some of them of mixed Greek blood of great physical beauty. Looking down from a balcony in stucco Mauresque, the whole scene present a rare whirl of colour, life, and excitement, a picture of the vanity and transience of all things: one which recalls the sad exclamation attributed to Xerxes, in crossing from Asia not far from this very spot, that in less than a hundred years not a single soul of all his hosts would be alive.
CHAPTER XI
THE LEVANTINE
The wish—which ages have not yet subdued
In man—to have no master save his mood.
Byron
You come across a queer medley of races, languages, and nationalities in the narrow streets of Pera, somewhat trying to the nerves in its promiscuous incongruity. Almost with a shock you see the name of Pericles over a grocer’s shop, Demosthenes over that of a tailor or a barber, and Socrates or Euripides staring you in the face as the name of a bootmaker. Enter a café or brasserie and you find Germans, Austrians, French, Greeks, Italians, and Armenians at one and the same table playing dominoes or tric-trac. One of such a group, to whom I had mentioned that I should go mad if I lived for long in such kaleidoscopic surroundings, retorted: “We are accustomed to it here. Indeed, I should feel depressed unless I could express myself in half a dozen languages before I went to bed. When I get home to-night, I shall converse in Hungarian with my father-in-law, in German with my wife, in Greek with my children, and in English with their governess. And I shall probably wind up by addressing my servants in Roumanian or Turkish.”
I have known a Levantine civil pasha married to an Austrian lady whose three-year-old son would prattle in English, German, Greek, and Turkish. Nor am I quite sure that this list of the prodigy’s accomplishments is complete. Such polyglot proficiency as is to be met with among the Levantine element is calculated to impress the monolingual Anglo-Saxon; but in the long run it is not without its drawbacks. Never was the saying, “Qui trop embrasse mal étreint,” more applicable than here. Listening to superficial, aimless small talk, defectively conveyed in half a dozen different languages, is apt at last to irritate even the most hardened and indulgent listener. For it goes without saying that these are spoken indifferently, and when put to paper written ungrammatically. According to Continental standards of mental culture, the level of the Levantine is not a high one. The artisan class in this as in other respects are, I should say, decidedly superior to their social betters, and lead a healthier life generally. You may meet individual cases of excellent musicians in Pera society; but the gramophone, not to say the French horn, and third-rate French music-hall entertainments more correctly indicate the average taste of the community. I found it impossible to obtain the songs of Schumann or Franz, and only a poor selection of the works of other great composers was to be had in any of the music-shops of Pera. Whatever taste for belles-lettres may exist partakes of a second-rate French order. The lack of a definite nationality acts unfavourably in the direction of the cultivation of intellectual pursuits, with the possible exception of the Greek colony, which maintains a touch with the literature of ancient Hellas. This defect also shows itself in the nondescript character of the cookery at the principal hotels and restaurants, as already stated.
A strange and wondrous world this, and, what is equally remarkable, a free-and-easy one into the bargain. To all appearances it is Liberty Hall right round the compass. More particularly does this apply to the stranger within the gates. And all are strangers here who by their pseudo-nationality can claim to come under the privileges of the Capitulations which the Sultans, even in the plenitude of their power, tolerantly allowed to continue in force. Strangers pay no taxes either as individuals or as house-owners. It was only quite recently, and with the greatest difficulty, that the Turkish Government succeeded in making foreigners pay a small stamp duty for receipts on bills, etc. There is full liberty to revile the authorities as much as you please, and even now and then to introduce bombs and explosives with the connivance of a certain Great Power. No wonder that the late Sultan was driven in self-defence to keep a huge staff of professional spies in his service.