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
There are probably few nations in the world that observe with such
severity as the Turks that domestic precedence and etiquette, which,
while it may certainly prevent any disrespectful familiarity, has a
tendency to annihilate all ease. Thus, the other ladies of the family
are each inferior to the first wife, who takes the upper seat on the
sofa, and regulates all the internal economy of the women’s apartments:
and, although they may be greatly preferred by the husband, they are,
nevertheless, bound to obey her commands, and to treat her with the
respect due to a superior. In the Salemliek, when she is desired by her
lord to be seated, (without which gracious intimation she must continue
standing before him), she is privileged to place herself on the same
sofa, but on its extreme edge, and at a considerable distance; while the
other ladies are only permitted to fold their feet under them on a
cushion spread upon the carpet, and thence look up to the great and
gracious ruler of their destinies! The ceremonies of the Salemliek are
neither forgotten nor neglected in the harem, and it is customary for
all the slaves to bend down and kiss the hem of their mistress’s garment
on her first appearance in the morning.
These heart-shutting observances cannot fail to heighten the jealousy
which their relative position must naturally excite in the bosoms of
the other inmates of the harem, although such a circumstance as
rebellion against the supreme power is never heard of, nor imagined.
During the day we were summoned to the apartment of the minister;
whither, as the invitation was not extended to his wife, we went,
accompanied only by three or four black slaves. After traversing several
long galleries and halls, covered so closely with matting that not a
footfall could be heard, we passed under the tapestry-hanging that
veiled the door of the Effendi’s apartment, and found ourselves in an
atmosphere so heavy with perfume that for a moment it was almost
suffocating.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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