At the time that the Turks took Constantinople, there was a colony of Genoese Venetians established in a suburb of the city, called Galata, who were allowed to retain this quarter, which occupies the declivity of the hill with the summit called Pera, where the European emigrants, attracted by commerce and other motives, as well as the foreign dignitaries, have ever since continued to reside. The warehouses of the merchants are at Galata, which is connected with the city by a floating bridge across the Golden Horn.

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 manoeuvres. 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.

The simplest question is regarded by them as an inquisitive intrusion upon their prerogatives and peculiar sphere, so that, not to exceed the bounds of decorum, absolute silence becomes the only alternative. But when any sudden change takes place in the Turkish administration, or a new public measure is adopted, there is a jubilee in this social clique—for the discussion of the pros and cons, probabilities and possibilities, are talked over until the original theme is lost sight of, and all the excitement subsides—unless something else turns up at the Porte.

Intermarriage has produced a race of Perotes who never having had the benefit of finding their proper level by contact with a more elevated and extended sphere, consider themselves the very salt of civilization, and are even more afraid than the members of the Legations themselves, of mingling in general society.

The honorable distinction of being a Perote, does not only depend upon birth, but a still more essential point is allegiance to the Catholic religion. For the embassies under whose wings these colonies first sheltered themselves were the representatives of Catholic nations. The Oriental principle that religion and nationality are synonymous, had its effect even on this mongrel race; who, by degrees came to consider Catholicity as also identical with Europeanism.

Enjoying peculiar immunities as protÉgÉs of these embassies, in their imagined superiority, as Catholics, to all around them, they regarded the rest of their fellow citizens with even greater contempt than the Mohammedans felt towards the Giavours. This soi-disant aristocracy is not confined to Pera, but is to be found scattered throughout the Levant, at Smyrna and other commercial ports.

Ignorance of the language of the country where they are born is considered only a proof of their superiority to the other nations; but for their ignorance of all languages and miserable mongrel dialect called lingua Franca, we can find no excuse either aristocratic or diplomatic.

This lingua Franca is a corrupted dialect of the Greek language, interlarded with French and Italian; and in writing the Roman characters are substituted for the Hellenic, as being more distinguÉs. Even family names have been modified so as to ignore any traces of parentage—such as Sazan Oghlou into Salsani, and Zipgy Oghlou into Zipcy, etc.

When the foreign ambassadors first became residents of Pera, as long ago as the days of Suleyman, they found this mixed people apparently a connecting link between the East and the West; and being themselves then ignorant of Oriental peculiarities, and the languages of Stamboul, they were glad to receive these Perotes as employÉs, dragomans, etc.

Thus, by degrees, they became a sort of necessary evil to the foreign diplomatists.

Greater familiarity with the country, and still more, a just appreciation of these aspirants to aristocratic honors and functions, has, however, of late years, opened the eyes of the foreign representatives; and each embassy is now furnished with employÉs from the home government—consequently, the Perotes are now decidedly below par.

Adventurers, who, in their own lands, would never be heard of, in Pera become the guests of ambassadors and statesmen, and aping the airs and manners of their distinguished patrons, manage to pass current. Women at every other word murdering their mother tongues, are transformed into ladies of quality in the palaces of the representatives of their respective sovereigns.

But these are trifling matters. The outcasts of European society here find a safe retreat, and are even protected in their outrages, while the various protÉgÉs of the different Legations, natives and foreigners, constitute a privileged community.

Russia has endeavored to increase her own power by inducing the rayas to adopt her protection, in order to secure any claims whatever against either Turks or Christians.

“The most desperate ruffians of Southern Europe are in Turkey under British, Austrian, French, or Greek protection. The English give impunity to Ionians and Maltese; Austria has her Croats; French passports screen a crowd of Levantines, whose professed attachment to Catholicism is allowed to be the cloak to any knavery; while Greece and Naples send a contingent whose character may be easily imagined. While the worst of them have protection for delinquencies, the whole enjoy immunities of the most unjust kind.

“They can only be sued in the consular courts of their own country. They pay less taxes than their neighbors, and in some places none at all. They are wholly beyond the jurisdiction of the Porte, while for all claims on the government, or on Turkish subjects they can bring into play the whole machinery of their embassy. Each representative is almost bound to make every private complaint an affair of state, and, in fact the real or nominal Austrian, Briton, or Frenchman, practically turns the diplomatists of his sovereign into his own special attorneys whenever he pleases.”

This picture is not too highly drawn, and shows that if the Mussulmans need reforms, the nominal Frank population are in a somewhat similar category.

The effect which has been produced upon the minds of the Osmanlis by such specimens of civilized Europeans has certainly not been favorable; and it is to be hoped that more extended intercourse with Europe will counteract these influences.

The Diplomatic corps and the Perotes, though the Upper Tendom, and codfish aristocracy of Pera, are by no means the greater part of the population.

English, Americans, French, Germans, Greeks, Armenians, and even Moslems, reside there, preferring the bustle and public amusements which are to be secured, to the quiet atmosphere of Stamboul. The opera house and the fashionable emporiums of commerce have their attractions. On a Friday, it is amusing to see the crowds of Turkish women in the different shops, relentlessly handling the merchandize to the infinite annoyance of the proprietors themselves, who are not so patient as the merchants of the Bazaars. Often the most extravagant prices are paid for trifling articles of luxury, by the Osmanlis of wealth, who, even in this sort of trade, seem to feel that everything À la Franca must cost them dear.

The modistes have grown rich by selling them feathers, flowers, and haberdashery, and the confiseurs have exchanged their honeyed stores for bags of Turkish gold. There is a great fondness for dress in the population of Pera, and the balls, soirees and reunions are so numerous that many shopkeepers, having reaped a rich harvest, have retired from business. Feast days and holidays, which are so frequent, require their appropriate garb, and the Carnival, its masquerades and costumes de bal.

All the people, high and low, are determined to dress well, and display their toilets, so that the marts of fashion and luxury are never deserted.

The great rendezvous for these happy souls, when their supremest efforts in outward adorning are accomplished, is the Grand champ des Morts. Whither they resort in crowds, and sit among the verdure that springs from the dust of their ancestors, the white tombstones, the only records of those who once walked in their midst! Occasional funeral trains, slowly moving towards the newly opened graves, and the mournful strains of the requiems of the dead, do not distract the thoughts of those who are bent in chasing the shadows of Time, even while the realities of Eternity are passing in review before them, and the very spectres of the tombs seem ready to burst their cerements, and start up in mocking derision.