Around the Black Sea Adventure

Author: Jules Verne (France)
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: Jan van der Meer and his servant Bruno are strolling, observing, and chatting, unaware of what is happening. The Topkapi Square in Constantinople has always been lively with the comings and goings of people and noise, but on the evening of August 16th, at six o'clock, it was eerily quiet, almost desolate. From the height of the port leading to the Bosphorus Strait, its charming scenery could still be seen, but there were few people inside. Barely a few foreigners hurried past, walking down the narrow, dirty, muddy, and yellow-dog-obstructed streets leading to the Pera district. That area was reserved exclusively for Europeans, with stone-built houses standing out starkly against the backdrop of cypress forests on the hills. This square was always picturesque—even without colorful clothing to highlight its foreground—it was so beautiful that it was pleasing to the eye: its Mosque of Muhammad had slender minarets, and the beautiful Arab-style fountains now only visible as small rooftops like the dome of the sky. The shops sold various fruit ices and candies, with shelves piled high with pumpkins, sweet melons from Smyrna, and grapes from Scutari, forming a contrast with the stalls of spice merchants and rosary sellers. Hundreds of colorful light boats were moored in the harbor, their oars barely scraping the golden cornelian and the blue waters of the Bosphorus Strait beneath the crossed hands of the rowers. But where had all the people who were accustomed to loitering in Topkapi Square gone? Those Persians, elegantly wearing curly lamb pelts, those Greeks with countless pleats on their short skirts, gracefully swaying from side to side, those Circassians almost always in military attire, those Arnauts with sunburnt skin exposed at the openings of their embroidered shirts, and lastly, those Turks, the Turks of the Ottoman Empire, the descendants of ancient Byzantium and old Istanbul—yes, where had they all gone? Of course, there was no need to ask these two Western foreigners, who were now looking up with inquiring gazes, taking hesitant steps almost alone in the square: they would not know how to answer. But the matter did not end there. Even outside the city, a traveler could see this unique sense of abandonment in the silence. Between the ancient palaces and the Topkapi docks on the right bank, connected to the left bank by three bridges, the deep gap of the Golden Horn opened up, and on the other side, the entire basin-like Constantinople seemed to be asleep. So, was there no one keeping watch at the Burnu Palace? No devotees, hadjis, or pilgrims left in the mosques of Ahmed, Bayezid, Saint Sophia, or Süleymaniye? The keeper of the Selasikla Tower, just like his counterpart at the Galata Tower, was still taking his siesta, though both were responsible for monitoring the frequent fires in the city. Indeed, despite the crowded fleets of Austrian, French, and British steamships, passenger liners, light boats, and motorboats all clustered around the bridges and houses with their foundations submerged in the waters of the Golden Horn, the port's endless activity seemed to have malfunctioned and come to a halt. Was this the Constantinople so praised by people, this dream realized by the will of Constantine I and Muhammad II? This was the question pondered by the two foreigners strolling in the square. They did not answer it not because they did not understand the language of the country. The Turkish they spoke was more than sufficient: one had been using it in business for twenty years; the other, though serving as a servant, often acted as secretary to his master. These were two Dutchmen, born in Rotterdam, Jan van der Meer and his servant Bruno, whose strange fates had just brought them to the edge of Europe. Van der Meer—who was known to all—was a man in his mid-forties, with golden hair, sky-blue eyes, a yellow beard and a goatee, without a mustache, with rosy cheeks, a slightly shorter nose, a strong head, broad shoulders, taller than average, with a slightly protruding belly, and unattractive but sturdy feet—truly an upright man, a typical Dutchman. In terms of temperament, Van der Meer's character seemed somewhat weak. Without a doubt, he belonged to the type of mild-tempered, amiable people who avoided arguments and were always ready to yield in every aspect, not naturally suited to command but to obey. They were peaceful and calm people, and it was often said that they lacked perseverance, even if they believed they had it, it did no good. Their temper did not become worse as a result. Once, but only once in his life, a frustrated Van der Meer intervened in an argument, which led to serious consequences. That day, he completely shed his personality, though he had since regained it as if coming home. In truth, perhaps it would have been better if he had yielded earlier. If he had known what the future held, he undoubtedly would not have hesitated. But since the future cannot be foreseen, this incident would serve as a lesson. P3-5