The City of the Sultan; and Domestic Manners of the Turks, in 1836, Vol. 1 (of 2) — John Shaqi
The City of the Sultan; and Domestic Manners of the Turks, in 1836, Vol. 1 (of 2)Pardoe, Miss (Julia)
History
The City of the Sultan; and Domestic Manners of the Turks, in 1836, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Pardoe, Miss (Julia)
Turkey -- Social life and customs
Queenly Stamboul! the myriad sounds of her streets came to us mellowed
by the distance; and, as we swept along, the whole glory of her princely
port burst upon our view! The gilded palace of Mahmoud, with its
glittering gate and overtopping cypresses, among which may be
distinguished the buildings of the Seraï, were soon passed; behind us,
in the distance, was Scutari, looking down in beauty on the channel,
whose waves reflected the graceful outline of its tapering minarets, and
shrouded themselves for an instant in the dark shadows of its funereal
grove. Galata was beside us, with its mouldering walls and warlike
memories; and the vessel trembled as the chain fell heavily into the
water, and we anchored in the midst of the crowd of shipping that
already thronged the harbour. On the opposite shore clustered the
painted dwellings of Constantinople, the party-coloured garment of the
“seven hills”—the tall cypresses that overshadowed her houses, and the
stately plane trees, which more than rivalled them in beauty, bent their
haughty heads beneath the weight of accumulated snows. Here and there, a
cluster of graceful minarets cut sharply against the sky; while the
ample dome of the mosque to which they belonged, and the roofs of the
dwellings that nestled at their base, lay steeped in the same chill
livery. Eagerly did I seek to distinguish those of St. Sophia, and the
smaller but far more elegant Solimaniè, the shrine of the Prophet’s
Beard, with its four minarets, and its cloistered courts; and it was not
without reluctance that I turned away, to mark where the thronging
houses of Pera climb with magnificent profusion the amphitheatre of
hills which dominate the treasure-laden port.
As my gaze wandered along the shore, and, passing by the extensive grove
of cypresses that wave above the burying-ground, once more followed the
course of the Bosphorus, I watched the waves as they washed the very
foundation of the dwellings that skirt it, until I saw them chafing and
struggling at the base of the barrack of Topphannè, and at intervals
flinging themselves high into the air above its very roof.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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