Alexis Soyer

Farewell to the Crimea—Last glimpses—A collision—Rough weather—A strange coincidence—The Russian foundling—His history—A metamorphosis—The Sultan’s banquet—Sight-seeing at Constantinople—Last visit to the City of Palaces—“The Culinary wonder of all nations”—Holiday tour—The Author makes his bow.

ON board ship all was bustle and confusion. As the vessel steamed slowly out, we passed the few remaining steamers, including the bold Algiers, Captain Codrington, which was smoking with might and main. We went ahead, digging our way through the mountainous waves, which appeared to have accumulated in the harbour purposely to say farewell, or dash our brains out against the bulwarks or the perpendicular rocks of the bay. Black, sulphurous, and reddish clouds were rolling from mountain to mountain, burying the peaks of each in their course, and giving the aspect of a universal deluge, by the union of earth to heaven. We could perceive nothing excepting now and then a glimpse of two white spots: one was the Sardinian funeral monument, dedicated to their defunct heroes; the other, the white marble Nightingale Cross, which, as I have before mentioned, had just been erected by that lady to the memory of departed heroes, and the deceased Sisters of Charity and Mercy. So rough a day had not visited us since that eventful one on which Sebastopol had fallen. It was getting dark, and a misty rain kept falling, which made any but joyful reminiscences of our final departure from the theatre of war and the arid soil of the Crimea. The sable veil of night soon fell over our colossal steamer, the Argo, as she pitched and rolled in the hollow of the sea, having on board three hundred horses—a rather awkward cargo,—besides having been only recently patched up from some serious damage she had received in consequence of a collision with a French man-of-war. It had made a large hole in her, and carried away her figure-head. She had been for some time in the greatest danger in consequence of this, and though not materially so on the night of our departure, the remembrance of the accident was disagreeable enough to make all uncomfortable and spoil our appetites. A few extras had been added to the bill of fare in anticipation of the visit of our Russian friends; but I beg to inform my readers that I and a few of my compagnons de voyage saw no more of the banquet than did our much-disappointed guests on shore, who may probably think the invitation was a joke played off upon them by the captain, and that he was aware of the time of his departure.[29]

At about eleven, most of the passengers retired to their fully-inhabited cabin. The captain passed the night upon deck; so did I partly, as Morpheus often refuses to visit me when I am upon the mighty ocean, in either rough or smooth weather. Three times was the deck submerged by the heavy seas; washing the passengers from larboard to starboard, and vice vers—a sort of gymnastic exercise neither pleasant to man nor beast. Several horses broke their lashings and fell during those heavy shocks. The next morning was not more pleasant, but the afternoon turned out fine. At about three everybody was on deck, cheerfully conversing, walking, reading, smoking, &c. Nothing, I believe, is so soon forgotten as rough weather at sea, especially when the sun favours one with a few brilliant smiles. The dinner-table was well attended, and everybody very chatty. I sat near the captain and General Garrett. The former (whose anxiety seemed to have entirely disappeared) said to me, “I am going to relate a curious incident respecting yourself, Monsieur, of which you are perhaps not aware, but you will call it to mind when I tell you.”

“What is it? I hope it is nothing likely to bring me into discredit, or to shock my modesty?”

“On the contrary, it is all in your favour.”

“Such being the case, pray proceed. What think you, General Garrett?” said I.

“By all means,” he replied.

“Do you remember,” the captain began, “on the morning of the 8th September, as you were coming back to your camp, meeting with two naval officers who were endeavouring to pass the lines in order to get to Cathcart’s Hill and have a sight of the storming of Sebastopol?”

“That I do; and what’s more extraordinary, I do not know their names: in fact, I could not make out who they were, nor where they came from.”

“These are the very points on which I am about to enlighten you. You rendered them an important service on that occasion by your hospitality, for which I can assure you they are even to this day very grateful.”

“They were very welcome; but who were they?”

“At the time the adventure occurred, they both belonged to this ship: one was our doctor, and the other the son of a member of the company, who intends, upon your arrival in England, to give you an invitation to spend a few days at his seat near Southampton.”

“I am much obliged; but pray, when you see them, say I am already highly repaid for anything I did, as it was entirely through them I had the high honour of dining with General Windham upon the day on which he immortalized himself as the hero of the Redan.”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the captain.

Perceiving his astonishment, I related the circumstances mentioned in a former chapter. Of course these were well known to General Garrett.

It was with regret I was leaving the Crimea without knowing the heroes of this simple, though to me singular, adventure. How strange it is that at last, and upon my way home, I should ascertain that which I had so often inquired about!

A few rounds of champagne to their health and prosperity terminated this singular affair.

The invalided Argo had regained her perpendicular upon the smooth surface of the ocean, and stood as firm as St. Paul’s upon its foundations. In fact, the good vessel appeared quite motionless, and made our ocean saloon as lively as any upon terra firma. The night seemed to be jealous of the fineness of the day, and not a breath of wind disturbed its serenity. The unwieldy ship glided over the sea, which flashed as though it had been a lake of diamonds. The breeze was just strong enough to fill the few sails spread to catch it. Every one was upon deck, as busy as bees upon a hot summer’s day. The order was given to muster the soldiers and lower-deck passengers, and in a few minutes they were all upon the main-deck. Amongst them appeared a lad all in rags, barefooted, and with a black and a blue eye. His dirty, ragged jacket was covered with blood and mud. He stood cross-legged and leaning upon his elbow against the coping of the bulwarks, his right hand thrust in the hole where a pocket had no doubt once existed. The lad, in spite of his attire, looked as brisk and independent as a modern Diogenes or a Robert Macaire. To the questions put to him by the captain, he replied somewhat in the style of the Grecian philosopher to Alexander the Great. There was, however, this difference—those great men understood each other, while the captain’s English was entirely lost upon the ragged hero. After several attempts and failures on the part of the captain, a gentleman, Mr. Souter, who spoke the Russian language, interrogated him, and asked him how he got on board. His reply was, “With the baggage, to be sure.” He then, boldly and in a fine tone of voice, suiting the action to the word, told the following tale:—“I am an orphan and a Russian serf belonging to Prince Meshersky. My name is Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka; and since my owner, the prince, went to the war, the serfs have been much ill-treated by the agent in charge. This was particularly the case with myself, as I was attached to the agent’s personal service. He beat me daily, and gave me scarcely anything to eat. One day, two English officers passed through the village, and I held their horses for them while they took some refreshment. When they came out, they gave me a shilling. Though it was nearly dark, I watched the road they went, and followed them at a distance. After walking some time, I lost sight of them, and slept in the wood till daybreak. Two days after, having travelled through forests and over mountains in order to avoid detection, I found myself at Balaklava. This was only just before the departure of the fleet. I was determined to follow those kind people the English, who had given me so much money for so little work. Being aware that you were all going away, I bethought myself of hiding on board one of your ships, thinking that when discovered you could not treat me worse than the prince’s agent had done. I made the attempt in two different vessels, but was discovered and put on shore again. This vessel being one of the last, I went on board assisting some Maltese sailors with the luggage, and amidst the bustle managed to hide away amongst the horses.” In this manner the youth got to Constantinople.

The following letter, published in the journal of that city, will inform my readers of the rest:—

Monsieur Soyer, now so well known in the East, has taken under his protection a Russian boy who was in the greatest destitution, having stowed himself away on board the steam-ship Argo at Balaklava. He was only discovered when the muster of soldiers and deck-passengers was called. The poor lad was in rags and barefooted. He had received a terrible contusion on the head, and his black swollen eyes and blood-stained face rendered his appearance anything but prepossessing. Being cross-questioned by a passenger who understood Russian, he stated that he got on board under pretence of assisting the sailors with some luggage, and contrived to hide himself amongst the horses till the ship was at sea, fearing that he should be put on shore, as had already happened to him twice before. During the night, he came upon deck and fell asleep. About three in the morning, a violent hurricane came on, and a heavy sea broke over the bows, nearly washing the soldiers and himself overboard. It was at this juncture that he received the contusion, and became for some time senseless. He asked for nothing to eat during the passage, fearing discovery, but satisfied the cravings of hunger with orange-peel and pieces of broken biscuit, which the soldiers had thrown about the deck. He said that he was an orphan, twelve years old, and left his native village through the ill-treatment of his owner’s agent. Some English gentlemen, in passing through the village, gave him a piece of money for holding their horses; so he decided upon following such kind people, in the hope of obtaining employment and living amongst them.[30] He appears very intelligent, and is quite indignant at being taken for a Tartar. He is, he says, a true Russian. Instead of allowing him to be turned adrift in Constantinople, Monsieur Soyer claimed and took him under his protection, taking a certificate from the captain to that effect, in presence of General Garrett and his Staff, who were passengers on board the Argo. As he is now free, no doubt a prosperous future is in store for the poor Russian lad, through the kindness of Monsieur Soyer.—Journal de Constantinople et Echo de l’Orient, Thursday, 21st July, 1856.

THE BOY AS FOUND. THE BOY AS HE IS.
THE BOY AS FOUND. THE BOY AS HE IS.

While on shore at Constantinople, I sent this unsightly and dirty-looking urchin to a Turkish bath, and by this simple, “gentle,” and delightful Oriental process removed two or three coats of dirt from his skin. I had a suit of livery À la Russe made for him, which greatly improved his appearance. When quite recovered from the effects of his bruises and black eye, he turned out to be a very smart, clean, and extremely intelligent lad. So grateful was he for my kindness, that he came every morning at six o’clock to fetch my clothes to brush, kissing my hands at the same time, whether awake or asleep, as a mark of his gratitude. I have him with me in London, and intend to educate him, and hope he will turn out a good man of business and useful to society. It is most probable that had he been left to himself in Constantinople, he would have become a great rascal or a thief; for he possesses enough intelligence to be either a clever, honest man, or an arrant rogue.

We were anchored in the Bosphorus, opposite the Barrack Hospital. It was about ten in the morning. Everybody had an extra wash upon the occasion, and all were dressed in their best. The weather was very warm and fine, and all appeared gay and merry. General Garrett being anxious to see the wonders of the Mahomedan city, I offered, as I was now pretty well acquainted with its chefs-d’oeuvre, to be his cicerone, which offer he immediately accepted. We started, accompanied by Colonel Hughes and Major Dallas. After paying our respects to Admiral Grey at the Admiralty, we hired two caiques and repaired to the ancient quarter of Stamboul. There we took horses, and for six hours ascended and descended the intolerable muddy and badly-paved streets of the real Constantinople, where are to be seen so many Mussulman works of art—viz.: St. Sophia, the Bazaar, Seraglio Palace, and Hippodrome, &c. &c. &c., with which the general and suite were much delighted. Our intention was to dine at Messirie’s Hotel, and we had just arrived there, when we were informed that the Sultan that day intended to give a grand dinner in honour of Generals Pelissier and Codrington. Captain Hall, who brought the news, requested General Garrett to pay an immediate visit to Lord Redcliffe, adding, that no doubt the ambassador would wish him to be present. General Garrett replied—“It would be utterly impossible for me to be present at the ceremony, inasmuch as I cannot get my uniform, which is at the bottom of the hold of the Argo. I will, however, pay my respects to Lord Stratford.”

We immediately started for that purpose. The general remained some time with our ambassador, and upon coming out informed us of the kind reception and invitation he had received to be present at the grand Dolma Batchi Palace banquet, saying he must manage to go somehow. The only difficulty was to get his own uniform, or any other that would fit him, for the occasion. I merely left my card at the Embassy, intending to pay my respects to Lord Stratford some other day.

This banquet had been postponed for several days, on account of the non-arrival of Sir W. Codrington from Balaklava. The dinner was at last decided to take place on the 18th of July, 1856, at seven o’clock. The English general had not arrived, but was hourly expected. About three P.M. his ship appeared in sight, and at five entered the Bosphorus. All on board who were invited were ready dressed; so they only had to disembark at the splendid marble terrace which forms the landing-place of the Sultan’s new palace of Dolma Batchi, where numerous attendants were waiting to receive them. But, as usual, “Man proposes, and God disposes.” The severe gale we encountered on leaving Balaklava, far from sparing the great Algiers, had delayed her more than it did our good ship. While passing in front of Therapia, her progress was again arrested by one of the most furious hurricanes ever known in the Bosphorus.

The illustrious guests had arrived minus the Commander-in-chief, who was expected every minute. They were sitting in the grand reception-room. The dinner-hour arrived, and the doors of the magnificent Mahomedan hall were thrown open to the assembled guests. They were amazed at the splendour and richness of the architecture of that cathedral-like throne-room, which is a perfect copy of St. Sophia on a very splendid scale, the dome being only fourteen feet less in height than that of St. Sophia. The appearance of the table, placed in the centre, though very large and well garnished with elegant table ornaments, fruits, flowers, and a most recherchÉ dessert, left, as far as the dinner goes, much to desire. The mixture of French and Turkish cookery, of which I much approve, would have been preferable to all French, so difficult of perfect execution, particularly at Constantinople. As a whole, the coup-d’oeil was perfectly pyramidal and magical. The guests were seated according to rank and precedence, and each had his name and number on his plate, which plan prevented any confusion. The soup, as well as several hors-d’oeuvres and other dishes, had been handed round, when a tremendous hurricane shook the frame of the stupendous edifice, extinguished the lights in the orchestra, and made the colossal chandelier (perhaps the largest in the world) swing to and fro until fears were entertained of its falling. For a short time we were uncertain whether it was a hurricane or an earthquake; and though the festive board was encircled by old invincibles whom the cannon of Sebastopol had never unnerved for a minute, it must be confessed that the fear of an earthquake produced an ominous silence.

In a short time the music recommenced, and every one was himself again. The busy traffic of a large banquet had resumed its regular course; the guests had forgotten this vexatious event, and were conversing cheerfully. When the dinner had been removed, and the dessert was placed upon the table, the band played the “Sultan’s Grand March,” and his Sublime Majesty entered in all his Oriental pomp, followed by the dignitaries of the empire. This pageant was indeed worthy of the antique style of Oriental grandeur. Still, it is to be regretted that it had lost much of its magnificence from having been simplified and modernized. After this gracious mark of cordial union between the Mahomedan monarch and his Allied guests, which has been so well and elegantly described by the public press, the Sultan retired; and thus ended this sumptuous entertainment, which will ever hold a distinguished place in the gastronomic annals of nations. It was at least the first, and probably will prove the last, at which the magnates of three great nations met together beneath the roof of the great Pacha’s palace to partake of Mahomedan hospitality À la FranÇaise, which in my opinion ought to have been Anglo-Franko, but at all events half Turko.

The only thing to be regretted was the untoward absence of Sir W. Codrington, which happened as follows:—The Algiers started a few hours after the Argo; but being considerably heavier than that vessel—being a man of war—and owing to the bad weather and foul winds, she arrived ten hours after us, instead of four or six, as had been expected. In spite of this delay, she would have arrived in time, but for the extraordinary hurricane which came on as she entered the Bosphorus. Every gentleman invited was dressed and ready to land upon arriving at Dolma Batchi Stairs. It was all to no purpose; for on coming before Therapia, the safety of the ship compelled the captain to order the anchors to be let go; and as no caiques could venture out, it was impossible to land. My chief reason for mentioning this fact is because it was reported in Constantinople and Pera that the French and English commanders of the Allied armies disagreed politically, and would not meet. Through my friendly influence with important persons in Constantinople and Pera, I caused this report to be contradicted by the press, as it might have left an evil impression upon the public mind.

The Argo was to sail about four P.M. the next day. At two I went on board to claim my Russian protÉgÉ, and found the boy, who was aware of my being in Constantinople, and as the steamer was about to sail, had lost all hope of being rescued by me. In expectation of being landed at Constantinople and left to the mercy of the world, he was seated on the poop of the ship, anxiously looking out with the same anxiety as Sister Anne from the top of the tower, in the tale of Bluebeard, to see if any one was coming. At length he perceived a caique with two caidjees approaching the ship Argo; in it was seated a rather stout gentleman, dressed in the Oriental style, as he afterwards related, with a large white round hat, encircled with a turban of white and red gauze, and wearing a bournous. “It can only be my new master,” exclaimed the boy to those around—or at all events he made them comprehend as much. Nothing could exceed the boy’s joy when I set foot upon deck; but, as I was not aware of his anxiety, I took but little notice of him, as I had many persons to see in a short space of time. Observing this, the poor lad began to cry. Had he been retaken, he would have been sent to the mines for fifteen years, and afterwards as a soldier for life. I requested the captain to draw up a statement to the effect that the boy had run away of his own accord, and begged of General Garrett to be present as a witness; and he was accordingly transmitted to me as a free boy from the time of his destitution.

The following is a copy of the statement:—

Steam-ship “Argo,” Constantinople, 16th July, 1856.

I hereby certify that a Russian boy, about twelve or fifteen years of ago, was found on board this ship after leaving the Crimea. He states that he came on board for the purpose of getting employment. His name, he says, is Daniel, and that he was a serf of Prince Meshersky’s. Monsieur Soyer, a passenger on board, now takes him into his service, to prevent his starving.

H. B. Benson, Commander.

N.B.—The boy’s name is Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka. He says he is an orphan—has been very badly treated by his master’s steward—and begged of Monsieur Soyer to grant him protection, and is very willing to go with him wheresoever he pleases rather than return to his former master. As he was quite destitute on arriving at Constantinople, Monsieur Soyer is kind enough to take him under his protection.

I hereby certify that the above is quite correct, having interrogated the boy in his own language (Russian).

P. Pouteau, Kt. S. A.

I then bade a cordial farewell to all my compagnons de voyage, who were very anxious to have my company to London; but I had made up my mind to take six months’ holiday, and travel wherever my fancy might lead me, especially to my native city of Meaux, which I had not seen for twenty-six long years. I also wished to write this work in peace, having lost my notes. I informed them that I could not have the pleasure of accompanying them, as I meant to take a Continental tour, but hoped to meet them in London upon my return, which would probably be in the beginning of the then ensuing spring.

Wishing to visit at my leisure the civil and military institutions of this interesting city of Constantine, and, above all, to become well acquainted with the system of cookery, in which I had already recognised a deal of merit and originality, I determined to remain some weeks at Constantinople, as well as to offer to his Sublime Majesty the Sultan, through the kind intercession of Lord de Redcliffe, to whom I had paid my humble duty, a complete set of my various culinary works, as well as my magic and model stoves. I established myself at the hotel, and, accompanied by a friend, and my Russian boy dressed À la Cosaque, proceeded to visit on horseback all the curiosities of the Mahomedan city.

As I have already observed, though I frequently wished to inspect minutely the great metropolis of Constantine, my incessant duties never allowed me time for this: I therefore now devoted my leisure time to seeing Constantinople. I had fixed three weeks as the space requisite to visit in detail the wonders of that city. To do this, I engaged a dragoman of some intelligence, and requested him to conduct me to every place worthy of being seen, at the same time acquainting him that three weeks would be the utmost stay I should make in Constantinople.

Having obtained a firman, or passe-partout, we were to be seen flying from palace to palace, mosque to mosque, bazaar to bazaar, kiosque to kiosque, hospital to hospital, cemetery to cemetery, prison to prison; from turning to howling dervishes, and from the Sweet Waters of Europe to those of Asia, and last, not least, to the Sultan’s kitchen, which to me was the only object of paramount interest.

Almost every one attached to the army had left the banks of the Bosphorus and returned to England. Only now and then did one meet a British uniform in Pera. These were the officers of the Commissariat or the Turkish Contingent. Amongst the former were Commissaries Smith, Adams, Osborn, &c.

The post-office and hospitals were given up: Therapia and BuyukderÉ alone could boast of possessing the tail of the British army and navy. General Storks was still on a visit to Lord Stratford de Redcliffe; Sir Edmund Lyons was on board his splendid man-of-war, the Royal Albert, in the Bosphorus; Admiral Grey had left, and only a few acting naval men remained at the Admiralty.

I afterwards addressed the following letter which appeared in the Times:—

M. Soyer at Constantinople.
To the Editor of the Times.

Sir,—In reply to no end of inquiries from persons meeting me in the streets of Pera, BujukderÉ, Therapia, the Isles des Princes, &c., as to what I am doing in Turkey now the whole of the army has gone, and as every one here seems so anxious, probably others may feel interested, it has struck me, sir, to inform you personally why I remain here. In the first place, Constantinople and its vicinity are far from being destitute of vital interest, and those who have only seen its beauty from the Bosphorus, and then at first sight condemned the interior of this gigantic city of Constantine, have seen nothing, and are utterly incompetent to speak of it, much less to write upon the curiosities, manners, customs, and way of living, of this singular and almost unknown people, though lodged nearly in the centre of Europe. Thanks now to my last visit to Constantinople, which time nor duty did not admit of before, I now know it and its neighbourhood as well as London, and much better than Paris. I am pretty well acquainted with Turkish institutions, as well as manners and habits, which indeed deviate so much from our fashions that they cannot prove uninteresting to relate, if not to follow. Though so many authors have written upon Turkey, they have yet left me several virgin pages, and those pages are upon the national cookery of the Moslem people.

They have many dishes which are indeed worthy of the table of the greatest epicure, and I shall not consider my Oriental mission terminated to my satisfaction till I see in the bills of fare of France and England their purÉe de volaille au ris, tomates, et concombres, and purÉe de Bahmia aromatisÉe À la crÊme, by the side of our potages À la Reine, Tortue, Jullienne, and Mulligatawny; near our whitebait, red mullets, turbot, and salmon, their fried sardines, bar fish, gurnet, sturgeon, red mullets aux herbes, oyster pilaff, mackerel, salad, &c.; and with our roast beef, saddle-back of mutton, and haunch of venison, their sheep, lamb, or kid roasted whole, and the monster and delicious kebab; by our entrÉes of suprÈme de volaille, salmis, and vol-aux-vents, their doulmas kioftee, sis kebabs, haharram bouton, pilaff au cailles, &c.; with our vegetables, their Bahmia, fried leeks and celery, Partligan bastici, and sakath kabac bastici; with our macÉdoines, jellies, charlottes, &c., their lokounds, moukahalibi, Baclava gyneristi, ekmekataive. Their coffee, iced milk, and sherbet—in fact, all their principal dishes might, with the best advantage, be adopted and Frenchified and Anglicised. Not so their method of serving, in which they mix sweet and savoury dishes throughout the repast; and less likely still their method of eating with their fingers, though, after several trials, I must admit that it has some peculiar advantages; their sauces being of a thinnish nature, require to be absorbed with a piece of bread in order to partake of them, which could not be performed equally well with a knife or fork. Their custom of serving only one hot dish at a time is not new to us, we having borrowed it from the Russians, who probably took it from the Turks. No nation as yet has been able to boast of having introduced a single innovation in the way of living to this singularly incommunicative race, the cause of which I can only attribute to the immense distance placed between the relative social position of the two sexes: for while in Europe the “beau sexe” forms the soul of society and sociability, in Turkey they are kept in entire seclusion, and almost without any kind of education. My stay here has not only produced me the high honour of an interview with the Sultan, but also the advantage of becoming acquainted with one of the most useful and principal officers of his Sublime Majesty’s household, called the Hachji Bachji, or general-in-chief of the culinary department of his Sublime Majesty the Padischah, and he speaks with pride of having held that office five years with the late Sultan and Padischah Mahmoud, and has now retained it seventeen years with his present Sublime Majesty. Independent of the private kitchen of the Sultan, he has under his command in the various palaces about six hundred men cooks, and had in the time of Sultan Mahmoud upwards of one thousand. Having expressed a wish to become acquainted with some of the principal Turkish dishes, and the way in which the dinner was served, he not only gave me the required information, but invited me to a dinner, “À la Turc,” at the new palace of Dolma Batchi. We were only four guests, including himself; above seventy small dishes formed a luxurious bill of fare, which, after the Turkish fashion, were partaken of quickly, as the Moslems only taste a mouthful of each dish which may take their fancy. He then informed me that the repast we had partaken of was the fac-simile of the dinner daily served up to his Majesty the Padischah, who always takes his meals alone, and as no bill of fare is made, every dish in the Turkish cookery code must be prepared daily throughout the year, and only varies in quantity according to the abundance or scarcity of the provisions to be obtained in the various seasons, so that his Sublime Majesty may find everything he may desire within his Imperial call. Further details upon this subject I shall give when I publish my other work, which will be entitled “The Culinary Wonder of all Nations.”

The Armenian cookery turns very much upon the Turkish style, while the Greek has a type of its own, which, I regret to say, is far from meeting with my approbation, though in high Greek families I have partaken of most excellent dinners; but the Turkish dishes were always the most satisfactory, the common cookery of the Greeks being sloppy and greasy, while, per contra, the Turk has studied the art of preserving the essence of all the provisions employed, which method will at all times produce a palatable as well as a nutritive food. Prior to my departure, which will be in a few days, I shall pay a visit to Scutari, to contrast the present state of that busy spot with its now, as I hear, totally deserted aspect. My remarks upon this subject I shall do myself the pleasure of sending in a future letter, in hopes that they may prove interesting to the thousands who have visited that celebrated place on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus.

With the highest consideration, I have the honour to remain,

Sir, your obedient servant,
Pera, Constantinople, Hotel d’Angleterre, A. Soyer.

Sept. 8, 1856.

Two hours had now elapsed. Chibouques and coffee had been handed round many times, when the Prince remarked that his Majesty was later than usual. Shortly after, an officer of the palace entered, and desired Mr. Pizanni and myself to accompany him to the Sultan’s private palace, a distance of several hundred yards. Crossing a floral carpet of sweet perfume, interwoven with plots of choice exotic plants and flowers, marble fountains, vases, baths, &c., we ascended a staircase, and were introduced to a simply, but costly-furnished apartment, when Mr. Pizanni remarked that we had already made a near approach to the person of his Majesty. Hardly had he uttered the remark, when a eunuch entered, and requested us to follow him. We passed through several long dark corridors, richly tapestried, and here and there interposed with coloured glass, which threw a golden-yellow light, reflecting a peculiar hue on the eunuchs who were here and there stationed, keeping guard. Silence reigned supreme. We soon reached a very spacious area. A screen was suddenly removed, when, standing on the summit of a grand crystal staircase, most brilliantly illuminated with resplendent vermilion glass shades, stood erect a figure, which, at first sight, I took for an idol or statue belonging to this enchanting place. Mr. Pizanni advanced, with great veneration, towards it, bidding me follow, over a highly-polished glassy-looking floor, which I did not without fear of slipping—when, to my astonishment, I found myself standing before Abdul Medjid Khan, the Padischah, who, though simply attired in a rich robe de chambre and a plain fez,—which I believe is the oriental dress of reception,—the sublimity of the monarch’s countenance will never be effaced from my memory. Mr. Pizanni, addressing his Majesty in the Turkish language, introduced me, when, through that gentleman, I ascertained that his Majesty wished me well, and that his heart was well disposed towards me (meaning a great deal in a few words). His Majesty was then informed of the purport of my mission, commencing at the hospitals of the Bosphorus, then in the Crimea. His approbation was expressed by the slow movement of the head from left to right, the body remaining motionless. Then took place the offering of my various productions, culinary and literary, eight in number, which lay on a large, richly-ornamented piece of furniture, in the centre of this large cupola. The simplicity of the field-stove obtained his Majesty’s high approbation. “I well understand them,” said he, talking all the time to Mr. Pizanni, who translated word for word to me. After having complimented me very highly on the services of my undertaking, “I am much pleased,” were the last words his Majesty uttered. We then retreated backwards. Though the conversation had been varied and animated, not a movement on the part of his Majesty did I perceive all the twenty minutes we were conversing. We left the idol as we found it.[31]

The time fixed for my stay in the far-famed city of Constantinople was fast drawing to a close; a short visit to the Isles des Princes, that focus of nightly revels, was to put a final seal to my Mahometan review. I went there on a Sunday, and had the pleasure of meeting, amongst thousands, with Admiral Lyons and his maritime staff. Here monks, caidjees, donkeys, green fruit, cakes, fireworks, and gambling-tables thrive in a most flourishing manner. As the night approached, the Admiral left to join his ship, escorted down the silvery Bosphorus by hundreds of lighted torches, and shouts from thousands of visitors. The next day I was on board the Albert, anchored before BujukdÉrÉ, and bade adieu to the gallant admiral. I then paid my farewell respects to his Excellency Lord de Redcliffe and his family; the day was now fixed for my departure, everything was packed up, and my Russian boy, Daniel Maximovitch Chimachenka, had, with the greatest intelligence and delight, corded my last box, and seemed as if he was already breathing the air of freedom. For some time previous, a monster gipsy party had been in embryo; illness had prevented this rural festivity coming off, but on my return to Pera, it was luckily fixed for the following day—the illustrious Mr. Messirie being the giver of this monster pic-nic. At five the next morning every one was attired in their best summer array, and streams of people were pouring from all directions to the Galata Pier. A steamer, gaily trimmed, was waiting for the guests. When all were on board, the paddles commenced their revolutions; and, as we floated along the limpid bay of the Golden Horn, Greek music kept time with our race. Soon we arrived at Therapia, and landed on the pier of the HÔtel d’Angleterre, where light refreshments were provided for the innumerable guests. About forty caiques with double caidjees were waiting near the shore, while two caiques of large dimensions were filled with instrumental musicians. We then all started, crossing the Bosphorus towards Ibraham Pasha’s marble palace, and to the melodious sound of the music, we landed in one of the many pretty valleys of which the Bosphorus alone can boast; it was called the Sultana, near the Sultan’s valley. Such a culinary encampment I never before beheld; four men-cooks were busily engaged in dishing up sixteen hot entrÉes, fowls were being grilled, quails and dotrelles were being roasted, kaboub frizzling, and all kinds of fish were submitted to the science of cookery; four sheep and two lambs were roasted whole in the adjacent forest, while a table for about a hundred and fifty people was laid out under the shadowy folds of a huge tree, luxuriously situated at the base of a delightful Turkish fountain; sherbet, ices, jam, and cakes were also freely partaken of. At twelve, to the minute, the open-air banquet was placed upon the table, and soon the warning note of the tum-tum assembled all around it. Oriental fruit and flowers profusely ornamented the festive board, while Smyrna melons of large dimensions perfumed the air. The banquet lasted two hours, after which dancing and oriental games were in full swing in all directions, including the Greek, Armenian, and Albany dances, accompanied by the twang of music, to the great delight of the participators, as well as the admiration of several hundred Turkish spectators, both men and women, dressed in their best, this being their Sabbath. It gave this scene a purely oriental aspect, which cannot be beheld anywhere but under the heavenly paradise of Mahomet. As the evening approached, more animated became the party, and no finale could have wound up the day’s fun better than the dance of all creeds, each dancer holding a lighted torch, which flickered about the forest like so many will-o’-the-wisps. Turkish fireworks terminated this day of romance, which ended to the sorrow of all. Iron pots elevated on poles, along the shore, filled with wood and vitriol, were then fired, throwing a blaze of light on the caidjees, who were gaily fluttering round the shore on the agitated ripples of the Bosphorus; each caique, headed by its pot of fire—blue, green, or yellow—bands of music, hurrahs of twelve times three to Mr. Messirie, the donor of this magnificent fÊte, and at midnight, landing at Therapia terminated this ever to be remembered day.

My last day was devoted to my grand review of the Asiatic shore, Barrack Hospital, &c., and I devoted the morning hour to my final call on numerous oriental friends from whom I had received so much kindness and friendship during my long sojourn in the East.

Arriving early the next morning at Smyrna, where forests of fig-trees abound, caravans of camels and noted brigands thrive—while at the HÔtel des deux Augustes, I wrote my Scutari journal, of which the following is a copy, being the continuation of that which appears at page 496:

Our next stay was at Malta, where I received a most gratifying reception from the governor, military and civil authorities, as well as from the gentlemen of the press. A stay of ten days in that city of ancient chivalry will in my memory form an historical page of most agreeable reminiscences, and could I have accepted all the dinners offered me by the officers of various regiments, whom I had met in the Crimea, three months would hardly have sufficed in fulfilling the invitations. To Colonel Haley of the 47th, I cannot but feel grateful for the magnificent banquet he gave on the occasion, when about fifty of the heads of the army there stationed sat around the festive board, and at which our epicurean soldier distinguished himself by concocting a most excellent potage aux crevettes, and two dressed fish, peculiar to Malta.[32]

Our next stay was at Marseilles, and being accompanied by Mr. Robertson, the celebrated photographist of Constantinople, we once more degustated the celebrated bouillabaisse. We afterwards took a stroll through the part of France so lately inundated, where we met the celebrated Horace Vernet; after a few hours at Lyons, we reached Paris the same evening, which to our astonished eyes displayed quite a new aspect, with her Rivoli rods of fire, magnificent palaces, and stupendous streets. Above two years had elapsed since my last visit, and had created, under the guidance of the imperial wand of Napoleon III., these wonders. After gazing with amazement over that far-famed city, I retired to my native place, Meaux en Brie, the birthplace of Bossuet, which I had not visited for upwards of twenty-six years, having only a local interest in the place, I being the last of my family left. During the progress of this work, when returning to Paris, I had, after an application, the honour of an interview with his Imperial Majesty the Emperor, who took a most vivid interest in the descriptive narrative I gave him of my Eastern mission, and entered into the most minute details on hospital and camp cookery, &c. Our interview took place at the Chateau des Tuileries, and lasted about half an hour; and after submitting and explaining to his Imperial Majesty a model of my field-stove, he desired to have an ordinary one forwarded from London, to serve as a model for his army. His Majesty also took a vivid interest in the perusal of my simple hospital dietary and army receipts. The affability of his Majesty towards me in alluding to his high appreciation of my services in the East, more than repays me for my very humble duties.[33]

In accordance with my aforementioned promise, having already gathered so much matter for this narrative work, I find myself compelled to reserve what I have so carefully collected for another work, already mentioned in a note at the foot of preceding page, in which I shall insert only the dishes most renowned in each country, and thus render them practical everywhere. I have, during my six months’ travels since leaving the Crimea, personally visited and become acquainted with the cookery of Russia, Turkey, Germany, Greece, Malta, Italy, and France, also that of its great provincial towns—of the latter till now unknown to me. They all enjoy a high reputation for peculiar dishes so much esteemed by the real gourmet. With Strasbourg, my culinary peregrinations closed. I addressed to the local paper of that antique and interesting city the following letter respecting the production of its delicious foies gras and erroneous Inquisitional Romance:—

I purpose adding to this recherchÉ and universal bill of fare, a few receipts from Spain, Portugal, America, India, and China; closing this small but well-filled volume with the roast-beef and plum-pudding of Old England, which they are at present totally incapable of cooking properly in Paris, but which I intend compelling them to do, inasmuch as they now have in that city of gourmets and cradle of gastronomy nearly as good meat as any to be found in the English metropolis.

The work will be published at a moderate price, and printed in different languages, and will, I hope, prove acceptable to the public, as well as beneficial, in a culinary point of view, to all nations.

A few weeks after my visit to his Majesty the Emperor Napoleon III., and having delivered my report upon the kitchens for the working classes, to my joy the time had arrived to sail for England’s happy land, which two years previous I had so unexpectedly left. Double pleasure was attached to my return, for I felt assured that within its sea-girt shore thousands of true British hearts were wishing me well, to use his Majesty the Sultan’s term. And indeed I was not disappointed, for in less than forty-eight hours after my arrival in its mighty metropolis, I had been so fervently shaken by the hand, that I could not but help exclaiming for a short time, “Save me from my friends.” Added to this, my kind reception by the home authorities was to me more than gratifying: then the last, though not least, reminiscence of my late campaign which occurred in Hyde Park, on the occasion of the distribution of the Order of Valour by her Most Gracious Majesty, when, being recognised amongst the thousands assembled in the stand by the valiant general, Sir Colin Campbell, the elevation of my hat was not sufficient for the impetuosity of the major-domo of this grand and imposing ceremony—the last link of the late memorable Crimean Campaign. On my going towards Sir Colin I was greeted with a hearty shake of the hand, and the usual kind and affable inquiries so peculiar to the amiable General having passed between us, I could not help expressing to the gallant warrior how highly gratified I had been by the admirable and perfect manoeuvring of the troops. Shortly after he bade me adieu, and, accompanied by his staff, left the ground. At this time I much regretted not having had the opportunity of paying my duty to one of the generals in command, as it would have closed, in a most apropos manner, the last page of this work, my “Culinary Campaign;” but, thanks to my star, an hour after the termination of the proceedings, while walking along Piccadilly towards my residence, a friend’s voice behind me exclaimed—“Halloo, Monsieur Soyer!” On turning round, who, to my astonishment, should I perceive, mounted on his Balaklava charger, and followed by his aide-de-camp, but the very gallant general whose absence I had just been regretting. It was no other than Lord William Paulet, who was turning the corner to enter his chambers in the Albany. “I have,” exclaimed his lordship, “been looking out everywhere for you, having learned from Sir Colin Campbell that you were upon the ground.”

“So have I been looking for you, my lord, and with great anxiety, but unfortunately I was deprived of the pleasure of meeting you.”

“By-the-bye, Soyer, I saw your portrait in the historical Scutari painting, by Barrett, this morning at Buckingham Palace, and I consider it an excellent likeness.”

“I am glad you think so, my lord, and for my part I consider the whole of the picture remarkably well executed. At the same time allow me to inform your lordship, that as you are so near home, I should have been very sorry to have had the pleasure of meeting you in the Park.”

“Why so, Soyer?” remarked his lordship, leaning over his charger, and still retaining my hand in his.

“Well, my lord, the reason is simple. Having so prosperously commenced my culinary campaign under your command and very kind assistance, while your lordship was Brigadier-general of Scutari, nothing could be more in accordance with my wishes than that the last page of a work which I am now about completing, in anticipation of perpetuating the style of cookery introduced by me both at Scutari and in the camp before Sebastopol, should terminate at the very threshold of your door, and while you were returning from the last national ceremony relating to the great Crimean campaign.”

“Well, upon my word, it is very remarkable; and I am happy to think, Soyer, that you have written a work upon so important and interesting a subject.”

We then parted. A few minutes had thrown a curtain over this grand military display, which will ever be remembered in history, as well as graven on the memory of man.

The Author, after his laborious campaign, in bidding adieu to his readers, does not intend to remain Soyer tranquille, as he is most anxious, after having chronicled his culinary reminiscences of the late war, to put his views into action by simple practice; and as he had no other object in writing this book, he sincerely hopes it may be the means of causing a lasting amelioration in the cooking for both army and navy, and all public institutions. Such a result to his labours, after his long culinary experience, would make the author happy indeed, and he would for the future be found as traced below.

Soyer trÈs heureux.
Soyer trÈs heureux.