"And do you hate the Armenians as much as the Shiites hate us?"
"We do not hate anybody. Our religion does not allow us to do so."
"You Christians are a strange people," said the priest. Rising, he left the room, followed by the rest of the visitors.
The scenery is very lovely in this neighbourhood, and as we ascended an incline which leads in the direction of Angora, I could not help wishing that I had been born a painter, in order to have placed on canvas a picture of the landscape. A succession of hills, each one loftier than its fellow, broke upon us as we climbed the steep. They were of all forms, shades, and colours, ash-grey, blue, vermillion, robed in imperial purple, and dotted with patches of vegetation. Our road wound amidst these chameleon-like heights. Silvery rivulets streamed down the sides of the many coloured hills. A rising sun showered its gleaming rays upon the sparkling cascades. They flashed and reflected the tints and shadows. A gurgling sound of many waters arose from the depths below.
We reach the summit of the highest hill. The scene changes. We look down upon a vast plain. It is surrounded on all sides by undulating heights. The white sandy soil of the valley throws still more into relief the many-coloured mountains. Patches of snow deck the more distant peaks. The sun is dispelling the flossy clouds which overhang the loftier crags. The filmy vapour floats away into space; caressing for a few moments the mountains' crests, it is wafted onward, and then disappears from our view.
Now we crossed a rapid stream, about thirty yards wide, and known as the Alatai river. A fragile bridge spans the waters. Soon afterwards we put up for the night at a farm-house in the village of Tchairhana. The proprietor, a jolly-looking Turk, received us very hospitably. Later on in the evening he brought me a large yorgan, or Turkish counterpane, with the remark that possibly the Effendi might feel cold during the night.
The Turkish beds are very primitive; no bedstead being used. One or two mattresses are laid on the floor, the yorgan takes the place of sheets or blankets. It consists of a silk quilt, generally lined with linen, and stuffed with feathers. These quilts pass from father to son, and are greatly prized by the Turks. The farmer, to make me appreciate his attention the more highly, remarked that the yorgan had been used by his grandfather, as well as by his father on their wedding-nights, and that he himself had employed it on a similar occasion only a few weeks previously.
Osman, now interrupted the speaker with the remark that in his family there was also a wonderful yorgan—something quite out of the common, it was so beautiful that neither his wife nor himself liked to use it—and that this one was like a furze bush in comparison.
"So you are married, Osman?" I remarked.
"Yes; but I have not seen my wife for three years."