There, on our extreme left and near the water, is the country estate of Khedive Ismail Pasha, father of the last Khedive of Egypt who was dethroned by England during the war because of his pro Turkish sentiments. Ismail Pasha’s estate is in Europe but the hills which seem next to it are on the other side, in Asia, and the funny looking buildings on top as well as the low buildings on the shore are the depots of the Standard Oil Company. They used to belong to an uncle of Madame Ismet Bey but now they belong to the Standard Oil.
No, her uncle has not sold his rights: it just happened that the Standard Oil stepped in before he had time to have them renewed. His house, or what used to be his house is the one just opposite us. He used to have the most beautiful caiks in the Bosporus, ten or fifteen years ago, and his wife and his daughters would go every Friday to the Sweet Waters of Asia in those long, slim racing barks, with tapering ends, rowed by three or sometimes four boatmen with flowing sleeves, a beautiful embroidered carpet covering the stern, its corners trailing in the sea. He used to have a passion for flowers and you can see even from here the roof of the hothouse where he grew the most exotic plants he could think of: rare varieties of chrysanthemums and poppies from the Far East private tours istanbul, tulips from Turkestan and Persia, mogra and lotus trees from India. Now he has sold his house and has barely enough to live on.
Side of Bosporus
The Sweet Waters of Asia are nearby, just between the ruins of the old mediaeval castle built by Sultan Mahomet the Conqueror before he laid siege to Byzance and the Imperial Kiosks of Chiok Soo, a real jewel. Further to the right that low, rambling white building is the yali of the family of Mahmoud Pasha. They entertain a great deal and have asked us to tea next Sunday. Now we pass again without realizing it to the European shores; the old castle on the hill is the Castle of Europe, the first stronghold of the Turks on this side of the Bosporus, and the big building next to it is the famous Robert College, the American College for Boys.
The view is so gorgeous that it cannot be described. I wish I had a canvas and the technique of Courbet, the talent of Turner and the daring of Whistler to paint in all its splendor the clear sky of the Bosporus, so clear and so blue that the eyes can almost see that it is endless the red and gold flakes of its dark green vegetation, so luxuriant that it speaks of centuries of loving care the peaceful atmosphere of its old houses, so restful that you can feel that generations of thinkers and philosophers have meditated behind their walls the harmonious outline of its hills, so smilingly round that only immemorial age can have so smoothly curved them the mystery of its always running currents, running so continuously that they should have long ago emptied the Black Sea into the Mediterranean.
Historical Ottoman 