Extract from: CONSTANTINOPLE DURING THE CRIMEAN WAR.
By LADY HORNBY. LONDON; RICHARD BEXTLEY, PUBLISHED IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY. 1863.
LETTER XXXI.
VISIT TO THE HAREM OF PASHA. — NEWS FROM ENGLAND. — LADIES
OF STANBOUL. — CHIEF OF THE EUNUCHS. — INTERIOR OP THE HAREM. – DRESSES OF THE LADIES.
— CIRCASSIAN BEAUTY. — DRESSES. — HOSPITALITY IN THE HAREM.
Orta-kioy, March 20th.
My dear Lady Easthope,
By ten o'clock on Monday morning, Madame la Vicomtesse de
Fitte de Soucy, Mrs. Brown, and I were skimming along the Bosphorus as fast as
three splendid Greek rowers could take us, on our way to visit the Harem of ---
Pasha. We landed at Tophana, and, guarded by the wisdom and sagacity of
Vassili, reached Mysseri's in safety. Here we met M. Robolli, the Pasha's
friend, who was to escort us.
The streets of Pera were crowded with loungers, five or six
deep on each side, which rendered them almost impassable. It was the first day
of the Catholic Greek Easter, and the
Greeks seem to like nothing better than to block up the streets by staring at
the English and French. It is really hard work to get along in such a crowd,
and over loose and dirty paving-stones.
This morning, in addition to the holiday-making Greeks, a
string of camels, led by a Turk in a green turban, and a diminutive donkey in a
necklace of blue beads, stalked solemnly through the crowd, heavily laden with
bales of wool. I do not think I have told you why the donkeys leading the
camels are always so small. It is because in crossing a deep ford, the little
fellow has to ride over on the back of one of these "ships of the desert:"
his weight is therefore of consequence.
Mysseri's was as full of bustle as usual. Captain Haviland,
the Queen's Messenger, had just arrived, and all were pressing round him for
news from England. He had had a dreadful passage: for two days the ship had
been beating about, unable to make the Port of Malta.
Almost all were murmuring at the news of "every
prospect of peace." Numbers of officers have just arrived fresh from
England after leave of absence, and all our people are in such splendid trim,
and so much at home in this part of the world now, that they feel indignant at
being prevented from winning a great share of glory for our own country.
Lord Stratford never put faith in the French alliance from
the beginning, and now all the world sees that he was right, and that we have
done all the hard work, they have taken all the praise.
Nobody believes in the good faith of Russia: least of all
the Turks. Our Commissariat here is at last in perfect working order: there are
immense stores at Scutari and Kulalee, ready for the Crimea or elsewhere at a
few hours' notice. Admiral Slade says that our naval power just now is
something wonderful. I don't wonder at many of our fine fellows who have got
new commands being disappointed!
But for our Harem visit. We said good-bye to our friends at
Mysseri's, stepped each into a sedan-chair (painted on the back with two
comical-looking British lions shaking hands in the most violent manner), and
with M. Robolli, mounted on a gallant grey, as our escort, passed up and down
hill in the steep side-streets of Pera. Our stout Armenian chairmen hurried the
three sedans through still more crowded streets, over the Bridge of Boats, and
soon into the silent regions of Stamboul, where veiled women were stealing
noiselessly along, and the closely-latticed windows and high walls gave one an
Idea of a vast convent Many of these dark-eyed ladies had a veiled black slave
behind them, carrying small baskets of hyacinths, jonquils, and other flowers,
from the flower-markets. At last, after interminable windings and turnings, we
arrived at the half-open gates of an immense courtyard, surrounded by a wall
which would have graced a castle of old. I almost expected to see a horn
hanging at the gate, with the challenge of the giant within, written in letters
of brass. However, M. Robolli rode in without interruption, and the three
sedans followed. Some Turks mending the pavement, stared at us with great
curiosity: I dare say they thought the Pasha had bought three English slaves.
We were set down in a large circular hall, covered with
matting, and were immediately surrounded by numbers of the Pasha's retainers,
principally cavasses (a kind of freelance footmen) and chibouquejees
(pipe-bearers). These gentlemen were entertaining themselves with a most minute
inspection of us, when down the vast staircase (with two flights, à la Fontainebleau) came the Chief of
the Eunuchs, as hideous and as angry as a Black could possibly be. He dispersed
the mob right and left, evidently claiming us as Harem visitors. M. Robolli was
conducted with us as &r as the first suite of rooms, and he then retired to
the apartments of the Pasha, leaving us in the hands of this "bird of
night," who was now joined by two others scarcely less monstrous and
frightful than himself. These led us through several immensely large rooms, all
covered with a rich gold-coloured matting, and with crimson divans at either
end. No other furniture, except an occasional cabinet, filled with grotesque
china, which I should have liked to stop and look at. The ceilings were all
carved and painted barbarously enough, and more or less richly. There were no
doors, but heavy hangings of crimson embroidered cloth and tapestry at the
entrance of the numerous apartments.
At last our conductor stopped on the third and last floor,
which is always the principal in Turkish houses, on account of the view. He
lifted up the crimson arras, and with a hideous grin invited us to enter.
Madame de Souci and Mrs. Brown, who are both very new arrivals at
Constantinople, were rather nervous, and begged me to go in first. I had seen
how sweetly gentle and kind the Turkish women are, and lifted up the charmed
curtain with much more confidence and pleasure than I should have entered an
assembly of Englishwomen. I shall not easily forget the sight which presented
itself. We were in the midst of a vast apartment, with a lofty, dome-like room
carved with gigantic wreaths of flowers and pomegranates. An immense staircase
was on the other side, lighted by a window which reached from roof to floor,
and in the projecting half-moon of the balusters was a beautiful white-marble
fountain. The whole was covered with the same gold-coloured matting. Rich
crimson divans under each enormous window at either end, and raised three
steps. The window looking towards the streets of Stamboul was latticed, with
round peep-holes; but the other was free from even a blind, and the beautiful
blue Bosphorus and Sea of Marmora, with many stately ships upon them, the
mountains in the distance, still glittering here and there with snow, — and
nearer, the dark cypresses, and the minarets of Santa Sophia and numerous other
mosques, lay in a grand picture of quite inconceivable beauty below it Here,
evidently in a dreamy kind of reverie, sat the principal wife of ---- Pasha,
surrounded by her slaves, some sitting on the steps beneath the divan, at her
feet, others laughing together and strolling about. She rose as we approached,
and gave her hand, after the English fashion, to each. The slaves all crowded
round to look at us, and I assure you that the variety and brilliancy of their
costumes was almost dazzling.
But I must first tell you the dress of the great lady. Her
selma, or wide-sleeved under dress, (trousers, etc.) was of a delicate
violet-colour, bound round the waist by a richly embroidered scarf; her shirt
of silvery Broussa gauze. Over this was a magnificent jacket of amber-coloured
cashmere, lined with the richest sable. On her head she wore a fez, bound round
with a large plait of hair, which was fastened every here and there with
immense rose-diamonds. A purple lily-flower was stuck straight down this plait,
and shaded her forehead. Her earrings were of a single pendant emerald, set in
a small spray of brilliants. She must have been of surpassing beauty, and was
still strikingly handsome, with perfectly regular features, and skin dark but
clear, a brow and upper-lip which would have graced a Roman Empress. Indeed we
made up our minds at once that it was a Roman Empress she was like.
Rising, she motioned us to follow her, and the principal
slaves officiously lifted the hangings of one of the numerous doorways
surrounding this immense apartment. We entered a charming room, evidently a
Turkish boudoir, with an immense window, divans all round it, and the same
enchanting view. Here we three poor Englishwomen sat in a row, distressingly
anxious to converse and make ourselves agreeable, and knowing about a dozen
words between us, including the detestable "bono" and "no bono,'''
which we were heartily sick and ashamed of. I tried Italian; Madame Ayesha, I
will call her, shook her majestic head; Madame de Souci murmured a few graceful
words of thanks in French; at which Madame Ayesha solemnly uttered the word
"Oui;" and all the slaves,
black men included, laughed with joy and pride at their mistress's
accomplishments. This was accounted for by Pasha having been Minister at
Vienna, and his speaking French.[1]
The hangings of the two doors were constantly being lifted,
and more women as constantly trooping in to peep at us. Some giggled and ran
away; others advanced boldly up the room, and evidently spoke to their mistress
about us. Some sat themselves down cross-legged at the further end of the room,
staring at us to their heart's content, and talking about us in whispers. We,
meantime, were talking to each other about them. But presently a splendidly
dressed black slave lifted the arras, and behind her appeared a most lovely
young Circassian lady, who was, as we afterwards found out, the Pasha's second
wife, and a present from the Sultan. She was very tall; but it is impossible to
describe her winning beauty, or the exquisite grace of her movements. We were
all three instantly charmed with her, and no longer regretted their not
understanding English; it was such a pleasure to exclaim every now and then,
"Oh you pretty creature!" "Did you ever see such a figure?"
"Do look at the shape of her head and throat" "What a lovely
mouth! and just listen to her voice." “There's a plait of glossy hair! quite
down to her feet it must be when unbound!" This pretty creature, whom we
instantly named "the fair Circassian," seemed to be on excellent
terms with her majestic colleague. They saluted each other after their usual fashion,
and she bowed to us very gracefully when we rose to do her honour, saying
something which seemed to be a welcome. I must now tell you her dress. Her
trousers, and the robe which twists round the feet, and trails behind, were of
the most brilliant blue, edged with a little embroidery of white. Her cashmere
jacket was of pale lilac (like the double primroses), lined with a
gold-coloured fur. A delicate lilac gauze handkerchief was twined round her
head; among the fringe of which, diamond heartseases, of the natural size,
glittered on golden stalks which trembled at the slightest movement. Lilac
slippers, embroidered with seed-pearls, completed her toilet No, I must not
forget the shining plaits of black hair which escaped from the handkerchief and
hung down behind, and a diamond of enormous size and great beauty, which
glittered on one of her white fingers. We decided that this must be a present
from the Sultan, and that it must also be one of the stones spoken of in
Eastern fairy lore as "lighting the chamber," etc.
The two wives now began a little consultation, and from the
word chibouque being frequently
mentioned, we easily understood the question to be, as to the propriety of
offering them to us. Both Madame de Souci and Mrs. Brown declared they should
die in the attempt (they are both very delicate); but I, having been taught by
no less a person than the Chief of the Bashi-Bazouks, declared that I could
take fire or mx whifis, not only with resignation, but with pleasure. However,
we were not put to the test, for it was evidently decided in the negative; and
on the principal wife clapping her hands, some richly-dressed slaves brought in
trays of conserves, and water in crystal cups. On the first tray is a glass
vase of the conserve, with a beautiful silver basket on either side of it, one
of which is filled with spoons of the same metal. You take a spoonful of
sweetmeat, and then place the spoon which you have used, in the empty basket on
the other side. Then another slave presents you with a richly-cut cup of water.
After that the coffee-bearers enter. One of them holds a tray of a semicircular
form, from which hangs a magnificently embroidered and fringed cloth of gold.
Other slaves then take the coffee and present it to each guest. The outer cup
is exactly like an egg-cup; inside this, is one of the finest china, which
contains the beverage. We admired their outer cups immensely; they were of
richly-chased gold, encircled with diamonds about an inch apart and the size of
a large pea.
After drinking coffee with great gravity and decorum, the
empty cups being carried away by the other attendants, the principal wife again
made an attempt at conversation; but after having thanked her, and said what a
beautiful view it was, in pretty decent Turkish, I came to a standstill,
although our gestures expressive of regret, were extraordinarily eloquent, I
must think, for Englishwomen and children of the North. "Madame
Ayesha," as I must still call her, wanted to know if Madame de Souci was English
(Inglis). She laughed and nodded; but still our hostess was evidently not
satisfied, having no doubt heard the Vicomte spoken of as a Frenchman. We were
sadly puzzled how to explain to her, but at last I held up two of my fingers,
making them look as much like a loving couple as possible. One of them, I
showed, was intended to represent Madame de Souci, — and touching it I repeated
the word "Inglis," they all nodded and laughed. The other larger and
more imposing one, I touched with great gravity and respect, uttering at the
same time the words *'Adam (man), fez, Français," or "Her man, her
fez, is French." If I had but known the Turkish word "kòja"
(husband) then, it would have been all right.
This making of signs was very vexing and tantalizing, and
the fair ladies of Stamboul evidently thought so too, for they made signs to us
again that it was very grievous to them. Thereupon arose another little
murmured consultation; the slaves laughed and clapped their hands, and two or
three of the principal ones rushed out of the room. We could not think what
they were fAout, and poor Madame de Souci became very nervous. "I hope to
goodness they won't undress us," said she, colouring up, and every ringlet
shaking with fright; "I was told that perhaps they would." "Never
mind if they do," said I, laughing; "the room is very warm, and it
would not hurt us. We must look out though that they do not divide our garments
among them, and that they turn out these black men." Just at this moment,
unluckily for the fears of poor Madame de Souci, our hostess made a sign to be
allowed to look at her dress, which she pronounced to be "ckok ghuzel” — "very pretty";
the fair Circassian then quietly lifted up Mrs. Brown's dress to look at her
petticoats. Poor Madame de Souci certainly thought that the dreaded moment had
arrived. "But they are such pretty creatures," said I, jesting;
"it will be like being undressed by fairies."
So now the heavy arras was lifted once more, and the slaves
who had just left, entered, bearing three magnificent chibouques, and two large
shawls. Which of us was to be rolled up in them when stripped of our close-fitting
European garments? But to our relief, yet bewilderment, the slaves threw the shawl
over their mistresses, over head and all, so that they, holding the thick folds
beneath their chins, only showed bright eyes and the least tip of nose.
We were excessively diverted by an old lady (an ugly
likeness of Liston, in green trousers and jacket) wrapping her head and
shoulders up with extraordinary care and anxiety. "Evidently something in
the shape of mankind is coming," said we; "can it be the Pasha?"
That third chibouque is evidently intended for some one of consequence." "I
suppose he won't offer to buy us before his wives." "I wonder if he
is good-looking?" “I promised my husband to be home at four o'clock,"
said Mrs. Brown rather nervously.
All the young and pretty slaves had now disappeared, as
silently and swiftly as so many mice, behind one of the hangings. Only the old
and plain ones remained. Two huge black men entered, and stood, like sentinels,
mute and upright, by the white fountain in the recess. "What dangerous
person is coming?" said one of us: "with no cashmeres to protect us,
how are we to stand such a blaze of manly beauty?" “Woe is me! is it the
Paris, the Adonis, the Butes of the Turks?” said another. We could not help
laughing, in spite of ourselves, when again the curtain was lifted, and,
guarded by another Black, entered the meek, white-whiskered little beau of
seventy-five, our kind escort M. Robolli. After he had kissed the ladies'
hands, held out to him beneath the cashmeres, we said, "O dangerous
Giaour, for our peace of mind, pray don't stay too long, nor attempt to peep
under that yellow and green handkerchief!" The old lady however seemed
determined not to run any risk of inspiring a hopeless attachment, for nothing
hut the tip of a rubicund nose was visible.
PUBLIC TOILET
And now began an animated conversation. The presence of an
interpreter was indeed a relief. And he took joyfully to the jewelled chibouque
presented him, the ladies breathing out clouds of smoke in concert, and with a
most wonderful grace. It was certainly a very striking scene,— the women-slaves
standing and sitting around, in their bright and varied costumes, the Blacks
watching our venerable Adonis and listening with the might of their enormous
ears, and innumerable laughing eyes peeping from behind the arras, which was in
a constant state of agitation. M. Robolli seemed quite to enjoy the state of
excitement into which his presence had thrown the harem. He sipped coffee out
of his jewelled cup, and evidently said many "obliging things" to the
ladies, who received them very graciously, and then begged of him to tell us
how welcome we were, and what pleasure our presence gave them, they touching
their lips and forehead at the same time. We of course expressed ourselves very
sensible of their goodness. They then begged we would take off our bonnets and
make ourselves perfectly at home, which we did. They then asked us which we
liked best, Stamboul, or London and Paris. I replied that Stamboul was most
beautiful, but that at Paris and London we had more liberty, and the streets
were better to walk about in. Then a little murmur of delight from the slaves
ran round the apartment: "She says Stamboul is most beautiful!" They
asked how many children we had, and said that Edie's blue eyes and fair hair
must be very pretty, — why did I leave her? I begged M. Robolli to tell them
that I feared the variable climate, and also that she was left with my mother.
"Don't let them think that we English are unnatural mothers." We all
entreated this.
"Madame Ayesha" then said how sorry she was not to
be able to present her own daughter to us. It seems that she is a lovely girl
of sixteen; her health is usually good, but she is subject at times to fits of
depression and nervousness, amounting almost to insanity. These attacks usually
lasted about three days, and this was one of these distressing visitations. She
was lying quite alone; her mind, the poor mother said, strangely wandering,
speaking of places which she had never seen as if she were there. Her old nurse
was the only person whom she could bear to see near her. The mother seemed
deeply afflicted when speaking of her beautiful but unhappy daughter, who, M.
Robolli says, is charming when well, full of grace and liveliness. While he was
talking of her and condoling with the mother, whose whole countenance changed
to an expression of profound sorrow, the slaves sitting at her feet moaned and
beat their breasts, and even the black men expressed the greatest sympathy: I
assure you I saw tears in their yellow eyes.
It was impossible not to be much touched, in listening to
this account of the beauty and gentleness and goodness of the poor young girl,
alone in her misfortune, and seemingly beyond cure (at least here at Stamboul).
Her mother looked the image of sorrowful despair, her lips trembled, and she
could not utter another word. Wrapping her rich mantle round her, she sat in an
attitude of queenly dejection, which Mrs. Siddons might have envied. These
Eastern women are wonderful for grace. Of course we felt for, as well as
admired her, and begged M. Robolli to say how sorry we were to hear of her
sweet young daughter's affliction. She thanked us very earnestly and with a
simple grace quite indescribable, a grace which makes you feel at once that you
never beheld anything like it before. I said, "It is a very great sorrow
for you, but there are others in the world still more unhappy: many who have
lost all their children, and many also have ungrateful ones." She replied:
"I often think that, and blame myself for giving way to so much grief. My
child is good and lovely when she is well. I still have her with me, and Allah
may one day please to restore her health and mind entirely." Here she
puffed away vigorously at her chibouque, and, putting her hand on her heart,
said that it was the very best of comforters in sorrow. We told her the story
of poor Sir Edmund Lyons, losing his brave son just in the moment of victory; and
two or three even sadder still of this war. She said, "How much England
has suffered!" and several of the slaves cried (or pretended). We then
changed the conversation which was becoming so melancholy; and they spoke of
their summer palace on the Bosphorus, hoping that when they removed there we
should visit them. "It is very lovely," they said; "there are
hanging gardens with a stream leaping from rock to rock amongst the
orange-trees; and the birds are always singing in the shade. There are also
beautiful fountains, and rose-gardens; and we think you will like it" We
were just saying what pleasure it would give us to visit them in their little
Paradise, when a slave, richly attired, entered. She kissed the hem of "Madame
Ayesha's" garment, touched her forehead with it, and then standing
upright, with her arms folded over her breast, evidently delivered a message. "Madame
Ayesha" explained to M. Robolli. "I am sorry to say I must go,"
he said; "another Turkish lady is coming to pay a visit, and although
Madame admits me with her husband's consent, he being accustomed to European
manners, any other Pasha might object to it; and she would not risk getting her
friend into trouble." So off went M. Robolli, and off went the fair
ladies' cashmeres, and "Madame Liston's" yellow and green
handkerchief, and in ran all the pretty young slaves again, like a troop of
fawns. I never saw so many women together in my life before; there seemed to be
no end of them.
There was one little girl of extraordinary beauty, about
twelve, and another a little older, almost as lovely. I never saw any living
being, or any picture, so beautiful as the youngest. They told us that she was
a daughter of the Pasha, by a slave who died last year, and who was also very
lovely. The wives seemed as fond of this little houri as if she had been their
own child, and were quite pleased at our great admiration of her. Poor child! I
wonder what her fate will be.
While I was holding her little hand in mine, and looking at
her lovely dark eyes with their deep fringes (you learn what "eyelashes"
mean here), in came the belle, for whose sake M. Robolli was banished from the
women's apartments. Although not beautiful, I think she was one of the most
striking persons I ever beheld. She had none of the almost invariable softness
of the Turkish women, but a face of the most marked talent and decision, and
satire, and with a decisive, authoritative manner to correspond, and yet
perfectly courtly, and with that exquisite ease and grace which is so
enchanting in Turkish women. She had piercing black eyes, of immense size and
lustre, with thick eyebrows; and hair of so raven a hue that I instantly thought
of the younger and more flattering portraits of Charles II. A large, dark mole
on the somewhat sallow cheek, made the picture still more striking, and added
to this she had tied a rich lace handkerchief round her neck, just after the
fashion of a beau of the Vandyke school, the ends hanging down. She held a
lighted Havannah cigar between her fingers, and we admired her rich lace and
muffles as she smoked with the air of a Rochester. Her dress and trousers were
of amber-coloured silk, her waistcoat blue, embroidered richly in silver; round
her slight waist she wore a many-coloured cashmere scarf, into which a massive
gold chain and Turkish watch was comfortably tucked. Her hair was dressed in
what they tell me is the old Turkish fashion, cut in steps, as it were, down
the forehead; about an inch long by the parting, below that a little longer, by
the ear longer still, — which has a very curious effect, and gives a rather
masculine look. A light-blue handkerchief was twisted gracefully round her
head, fastened on with six or seven splendid stars of brilliants. Between the
two centre ones, on the forehead, was a long piece of white muslin, about the
breadth of one's hand, which, thrown back over the head, fell nearly to her
heels behind. A ruby of enormous size flashed and glistened on the finger.
To us she seemed a striking “picture of the East," as
she sat pleasantly chatting with Pasha's wives. She and the chief wife sat, or
rather reclined, on the divan. The beautiful Circassian seemed to feel cold, and
half sat, half knelt by the enormous mangale (a kind of brazen tripod, filled
with charcoal) in the centre of the room. I thought I had never seen anything
more lovely and graceful, as she dreamily smoked her chibouque, and her great
diamond flashed on her white hand, and she lifted up her head now and then to
join in the conversation of the other two, or to laugh in the low, musical tone
which had charmed us so much at first
Our visit seemed very like a tale of the Arabian Nights,
especially when the slaves entered with tambourines, and, setting down
cross-legged at the further end of the apartment, entertained us with a concert
of "music." A more dreadful noise it is scarcely possible to imagine:
you hardly know whether to laugh or to cry. A slave beats the tambourine, and
leads the discord with her harsh and grating voice. The rest take up the howl
one after another, and yell louder and louder as the story which they were
reciting progresses. The fair Circassian seemed to take especial delight in the
performance, and, whilst searching for bright little bits of charcoal in the
mangale to re-light her chibouque, kept prompting them with verses which they
seemed to have forgotten, — to our great misery and regret; for ears, teeth,
and hair were set on edge and bristling up the wrong way, at this excruciating
"treat."
It was at last put a stop to by two things: first, by Mrs.
Brown's sinking back on the divan, pale as death, overcome by the noise and the
mingled fumes of charcoal and chibouques; and secondly, by the entrance of a
very fine baby with his two nurses. He looked so odd to us in his little
trousers and fur jacket, and wearing a tiny fez, ornamented with a loop of
diamonds. This young gentleman belonged to the visitor lady, and stretched out
his arms to her very prettily. He was not at all shy with the Turkish ladies,
or with the slaves, but evidently considered us veritable "Giaours,"
and would not come near us. The nurse who carried him was a lovely young woman:
she was dressed in trousers and jacket of a bright green, and wore on her head
a pale-yellow handkerchief, fastened with a large diamond. The other was an
immense black woman, dressed entirely in scarlet silk, with a little edging of
white, and a snow-white handkerchief bound round her woolly head. These two
"nurses" would certainly create a sensation in Hyde Park. They
appeared devoted to the baby.
But now our imperial-looking hostess made signs that we were
to eat, at which announcement we were not at all sorry, the fresh air of the
Bosphorus having given us famous appetites. We followed her accordingly into
the lofty apartment, with the dome-like painted roof; the fair Circassian
leading me affectionately by the hand, and the Pasha's lovely little daughter
gently conducting Madame de Souci and Mrs. Brown. The principal slaves went
before to lift the arras, and a motley group followed behind. We could hardly
believe the scene to be real: "It is so like an Arabian Night!" we
kept exclaiming, as we crossed with the brilliant group over the golden matting
of that vast apartment
At the entrance of the dining-room stood two Arab slaves,
richly attired. To each lady, as she entered, one of these held a beautiful
silver bowl, while the other poured rose-water over her hands from a vase of the
same richly-chased material. Two little slave-girls presented fine napkins, the
ends embroidered in gold, on which we each shook the rose-water from our
fingers. The dining-room was a most luxurious apartment, closely latticed, for
it looked into the streets of Stamboul, but cheerful, and rich in crimson
divans and carved and painted flowers on walls and ceiling. All had been done
that was possible to make the cage bearable. — Pasha's harem is, I am told, one of the most
"fashionable," which accounted for our seeing a European
dining-table, adorned with a handsome centre-piece, and four beautiful vases of
flowers and fruit, after the French fashion.
The dinner-service was of rare and beautiful china; the
silver knives and forks were extremely handsome; the servetti delicately fine; the flowers exquisitely arranged, and
mingled with oranges and lemons, in the Eastern fashion; the slaves were
standing round, three or four deep, awaiting our slightest sign: we felt still
more in the land of dreams.
First of all they placed to each guest a sparkling water-bottle
and glass. Then a fine china plate containing a flat roll of a kind of
rye-bread, called semeet, quite new
and warm, and covered with a small seed, which, not being a canary or a linnet,
I objected to. Then soup was served, — a great novelty in a harem: it was most
excellent, — chicken and vermicelli. Then came a dish of pilauf of chicken and
rice, done brown. I sat next to the chief wife, on her right hand; as the slave
held the dish, she pointed out the nicest pieces, begging of me to take them.
The fair Circassian sat opposite to me. I was curious to see if they really
seemed to like the modem innovation of knives and forks. For the first few
minutes they used them, — evidently to do as we did; but the Circassian beauty,
foiling to secure the particular piece of chicken she coveted with a
troublesome fork and spoon, threw those incompetent auxiliaries down, and
grubbed successfully, and to her entire satisfaction, with her fingers. She
then looked at me and laughed; and showing me how to take a piece of bread
between my fingers, begged us to eat à la
Turque, which they were all doing themselves, fast and furious; and, to
please them, we accordingly picked a few chicken-bones with our fingers.
We had all three been enchanted with the fair Circassian, as
I have told you, — with her beauty, her winning, yet lofty manners, and
exquisite grace; we had seen her smoke, and admired her still; we had even
forgiven her for loving the barbarous noise in the "concert of music"
but to see her lick her fingers up to the last joint after each dish, — to see
her lick her favourite tortoise-shell spoon bright after successive, and
never-to-be-believed enormous platefuls of sweet pancakes daubed with honey,
and tarts too luscious for the Knave of Hearts! — this was too much for Venus
herself to have done with impunity: we were perfectly disenchanted long before
the feast was over. The rest were not quite so bad (excepting “Madame
Liston," who might as well have had a trough at once); but we began to
feel rather sick after the first few dishes were dispatched, and the animal
passions of some of the ladies began to be roused by their favourite sweets and
jellies, which they tore to pieces with their fingers, and threw down their
throats in large lumps. The jester waited at table, presenting the principal
dishes with jokes which caused bursts of laughter from the ladies and the
slaves in attendance, who seem perfectly at home, and on very free-and-easy
terms with their mistresses, notwithstanding their complete submission to them.
The jester was a wild and most extraordinary-looking woman, with an immensity
of broad humour and drollery in her face. We thought it quite as well that we
could not understand the jokes at which the fair Circassian, between the
intervals of licking her fingers and spoon, and popping tit-bits on our plates,
laughed so complacently, and which sometimes obliged the Arabs and eunuchs at
the door to dive under the arras to conceal their uncontrollable fits of mirth.
It was certainly a most singular dinner-party. The dishes of
course were innumerable; the chicken and rice, and the cabeb, we enjoyed; the rest were very sweet, and very fat; and we
were delighted when our hostess rose, and again the refreshing rose-water was handed
to us.
We then returned to the luxurious divan of the smaller room.
Again the slaves handed coffee in jewelled cups; again the fair Circassian
looked dreamy and lovely, hanging fondly over her chibouque; again we admired
the blue Bosphorus, and the distant mountains, and the dark cypresses of
Stamboul; again we asked for M. Robolli, and again the fair ladies were
enveloped in their cashmeres; the blacks standing mute, watchful, and
listening. We repeated our thanks and adieus; the slaves lifted the arras. M. Robolli
kissed the hands of the kind and veiled ladies. The Blacks conducted us down
the broad staircase, crowding boisterously around us, and muttering the word bakshish.
Our visit to the Harem was over. M. Robolli mounted his
"gallant grey," and rode back with us through the latticed streets
and over the Bridge of Boats to Pera. It seemed as if we had had a dream.
