After a great deal of stumbling, slipping, and scrambling, we again found ourselves beside the fountain of Oulou Jamè; and, on leaving the mosque, remarked with some surprise that its minarets are painted in fresco on the outside, to about one-fourth of their height.
Having presented Quasimodo with a backshich, which sent him halting away with a second hideous grin, we proceeded to the Charshee, which is of considerable extent. As it chanced to be Sunday, the stalls usually occupied by Armenian and Greek merchants were closed; but many a Hassan, an Abdallah, and a Soleiman was squatted upon his carpet, with his wares temptingly arranged around him, his long beard falling to his girdle, his chibouk lying on the carpet beside him, and his slippers resting against its edge. Here, a green-turbaned descendant of the Prophet, with half a dozen ells of shawl twisted about his head, dark fiery eyes, and a beard as white as snow, pointed silently as we passed to his embossed silver pistols, his richly-wrought yataghans, and his velvet-sheathed and gilded scimitars. There, a keen-looking Dervish, with his broad flat girdle buckled with a clasp of agate, and his gray cap pulled low upon his forehead, extended towards us one of his neatly-turned ivory perfume-boxes.
While examining his merchandize we might have been inclined to believe that we could purchase of him perpetual youth, and imperishable beauty. He had dyes, and washes, and pastes, and powders—essences, and oils, and incenses, and perfumed woods—amulets, and chaplets, and consecrated bracelets, and holy rings; all set forth with an order and precision worthy of their high qualities. A little further on, a solemn-looking individual presided over a miniature representation of Araby the Blest—Spices were piled around him pyramidically, or confined in crystal vases, according to their nature and costliness: there were sacks of cloves, heaps of mace, piles of ginger, mountains of nutmegs, hampers of allspice, baskets of pepper, faggots of cinnamon, and many others less commonly known. Opposite the spice-merchant was the gay stall of the slipper-maker, with its gaudy glories of purple, crimson, and yellow—its purple for the Jew, its crimson for the Armenian, and its yellow for the Turk. I purchased a pair of slippers of the true Musselmaun colour, for which I paid about twice as much as their value, being a Frank; and we then continued our walk.
Not far from the slipper-merchant, on the platform in front of one of the closed shops, sat a ragged Turk, surrounded by flowers of a pale lilac colour, which emitted a delicious odour. While I was purchasing some, I inquired whence they came, and learnt that they were wild auriculas from Mount Olympus. I paid twice the price demanded for them, and bore them off. How knew I but that the seed might have been sown by Venus herself?
I had been told, previously to my leaving England, and indeed before I had an idea of visiting Turkey, that the stalls of the sweetmeat venders resembled fairy-palaces built of coloured spars; and this too by an individual who had resided a few weeks at Constantinople. I can only say, that with every disposition to do ample justice to all I saw, my own ideas of enchantment are much nearer realization at Grange’s or Farrance’s. The Turks do not understand that nicety of arrangement which produces so much effect in our metropolitan shops; and with the exception of the perfume and silk merchants, and perhaps one or two others, they are singularly slovenly in the disposition of their merchandize.
The sweetmeat-venders have a row of glass jars along the front of their stalls, some filled with dried and candied fruits, others with sherbet cakes, and others with different descriptions of coloured and perfumed sugar; while the scented pastes, of which the Orientals are so fond, are cut up into squares with scissors, and spread out upon sheets of paper; or perforated with twine, and hung from the frame-work of the shops like huge sausages. I confess that my imaginings of fairy-land extended considerably beyond this. The merchandize itself, however, is far from contemptible; and we found that of the Charshee of Broussa even more highly perfumed than what we had purchased at Constantinople.
From the Charshee we passed into the silk-bazàr, which was almost entirely closed, three-fourths of the merchants being Armenians; but among those who were at their posts, we selected one magnificent looking Turk, who spread out before us a pile of satin scarfs, used by the ladies of the country for binding up their hair after the bath; the brightest crimson and the deepest orange appeared to be the favourite mixture, and were strongly recommended; but their texture was so extremely coarse, and their price so exorbitant, that we declined becoming purchasers.
On leaving the silk bazàr we proceeded to the silk merchants’ Khan, a solid quadrangular building, having a fine stone fountain in the centre of the paved court, the most respectable establishment of the kind throughout the city, where their number amounts to twenty. Above the great gate, the wrought stone cornice is curiously decorated with a wreath of mosaic, formed of porcelain, as brightly blue as turquoise, which has a very pretty and cheerful effect.
The number of fountains in Broussa must at least double that of the mosques, which amount to three hundred and eighty seven. You scarcely turn the corner of a street that is not occupied by a fountain, and it is by no means uncommon to have three and even four in sight at the same time, without calculating that all the good houses have each one or more in their courts or gardens; no kiosk being considered complete without its basin and its little jet d’eau. Yet, notwithstanding this profusion of water, many of the streets are disgustingly dirty, not an effort being made to remove the filth which accumulates from the habit indulged in by the inhabitants of sweeping every thing to the fronts of their houses. Indeed, setting aside the costume and the language, Broussa and its neighbourhood are a second edition of Lisbon; nearly the same dirt, the same bullock-cars, and luggage-mules, and rattle from morning to night within the city; the same blue sky, sparkling water, dense vegetation, bright flowers, and lofty trees without; the golden Tagus of the one being replaced by the magnificent plain of the other.
After having returned home and changed our dress, we mounted our horses, and started to see the Baths. Nothing can be more beautiful than the road which conducts to them. Immediately on passing the gate of the city, you wind round the foot of the mountain, and descend into the village of Mouradiè; having the small mosque of Sultan Mourad on your right, and in front of you, the lofty chain of land along which you are to travel. After traversing the village, you turn abruptly to the left, and by a gentle ascent, climb to about one-third the height of the mountain; having on one hand the nearly perpendicular rock, and on the other a rapid and almost unprotected descent, clothed with vines and mulberry trees, whence the plain stretches away into the distance. The road, as I have described, hangs on the side of the mountain, and is fringed with wild flowers and shrubs: having the aspect of a garden; the white lilac, the privette, the pomegranate, the rose, the woodbine, the ruby-coloured arum, and the yellow broom, are in profusion; and it is with compunction that you guide your horse among them when turning off the narrow pathway at the encounter of a chance passenger; while the perfume which fills the air, and the song of the nightingales among the mulberry trees, complete the charm of the picture.