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
Beyond that point lay the Golden Horn; and, along the summit of the hill
which shuts it in on the opposite shore, stretched the cypress-grove and
houses of Pera. But ere long we turned away from these accustomed
objects to glance upwards to the crest of Mount Olympus, far, far away
in the distance, forming a mighty background to the Sea of Marmora. We
saw it at a happy moment, for the sunbeams had turned its snows to
jewels, which were flashing with a brightness that almost forbade our
gaze; when suddenly a light cloud passed over its stately brow, and,
deadening for an instant the glitter that it had borrowed from the
day-beam, sobered down its tints into more subdued beauty, and made it
look as though it were girdled by a rainbow.
As we reluctantly quitted this fair scene, and walked towards the
valley, we saw the araba that we had appointed to await us there,
standing beneath the shade of the tall trees; and as the arabajhe
observed our approach, he rose from his seat beneath a stately elm, laid
aside his chibouk, and prepared to assist us into the carriage. But I
lingered yet another moment to contemplate his costume—his voluminous
turban, which it must have required ells of muslin to produce; and his
gaily-tasselled and embroidered jacket, falling back to disclose the
shawl that bound his waist. I scarcely knew which to admire the
most;—his black and bushy beard, and the thick mustachioes that adorned
his upper lip; or the elaborately-wrought Albanian leggings and yellow
slippers which completed his costume.
No one but a native of the luxurious East could ever have invented an
araba; with its comfortable cushions, and its gaily painted roof, and
gilded pillars. The prettiest are those of brown and gold, with
rose-coloured draperies, through which the breeze flutters to your cheek
as blandly as though it loved the tint that reminded it of the roses of
the past season amid which it had wandered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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