Turkish Harems & Circassian Homes. Andrée Hope

      Turkish Harems

       &

       CIRCASSIAN HOMES

      BY

       M^RS. HARVEY. OF ICKWELL BURY.

      LONDON

       HURST & BLACKETT.

       GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET

       1871.

       M & N Hanhart Chromo Lith.

      TO THE

       LADY ELIZABETH RUSSELL,

       THIS LITTLE VOLUME

       IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

PREFACE.

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      It is hoped by the Authoress that this little record of a past summer may recall some pleasant recollections to those who have already visited the sunny lands she attempts to describe; and that her accounts, though they inadequately express the beauty and charm of these distant countries, may interest those who prefer travelling for half-an-hour when seated in their arm-chairs.

TURKISH HAREMS AND CIRCASSIAN HOMES.

      CHAPTER I.

      THE CITY OF THE SUN.

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      It was on a sunny summer morning that an English schooner yacht, that had been tossing about all night on the stormy waves of the Sea of Marmora, rounded the point opposite Scutari, and, gracefully spreading her wings like a white bird, came rapidly on under the influence of the fresh morning breeze, and cast anchor at the entrance of the Golden Horn.

      The rattle of the chain had scarcely ceased when up came all the poor sea-sick folk from below, for yachting people can be sea-sick sometimes, whatever may be the popular belief to the contrary.

      Never, perhaps, was a greater Babel of tongues heard on board any little vessel. The owner of the yacht, his wife and sister, were English; but there was an Italian governess, a French maid, a German bonne, a Neapolitan captain, a Maltese mate, two children speaking indifferently well most of these languages, and a crew comprising every nation bordering the Mediterranean.

      (This little explanation has been given in excuse for the desultory nature of the few pages that are offered, with much diffidence, to a kind public, as they consist principally of extracts from the journals and letters of the various dwellers on board the Claymore.)

      Besides these many tongues that were pouring forth expressions of joy and admiration with a vehemence of gesticulation and an energy of tone unknown in northern lands, two canaries, gifted with the most vigorous lungs and the most indefatigable throats, lifted up their shrill voices to add to the general clamour.

      All this uproar, however, was but to express the delight every one felt at the unequalled beauty of the scene before them.

      “Veder Napoli, e poi morir!” is a well-known saying. Put Constantinople instead of Naples, and the flattering words are equally applicable.

      Constantinople has been so often written about that it is useless to describe its lovely aspect in detail. Every one knows that there are minarets and towers rising up, in fairy-like grace, from amid gardens and cypress groves; but “he who would see it aright” should have his first view in all the bright unreality of a sunny summer morning. Soon after dawn, in the tender duskiness of the early hours, when the light steals down shyly from the veiled east, and before the business and noise of a great city begin, Constantinople