with gold thread--more
ornamental than useful.
They were all curled up on divans sipping coffee and smoking
cigarettes when I entered. Madame B---- presented me, and they
received me very graciously, asked my age, examined my clothes and
inquired if I had any jewels at home. I wore none, and suppose my
black silk walking-suit did not impress them greatly. Dress is of the
first importance in their eyes, and that and their husbands are the
chief topics of interest when they visit each other. Conversation was
not brisk, as the necessity of an interpreter is not favorable for
a rapid exchange of ideas. After sitting in this room for an hour,
Madame B---- informed me that Turkish etiquette required that she
should now invite her guests into another room and offer other
refreshments, then, after sitting there a while, to still another, and
so on through the whole suite of apartments, refreshments (generally
coffee, sweetmeats or sherbet) with cigarettes being offered in each.
As they would probably remain till four or five in the afternoon, I
excused myself, and reached the hotel in time to join a party going
to the bazaar, thankful that I did not reside in Constantinople, and
wondering how long Madame B---- would survive if she had to endure
such visits frequently.
We started for our first visit to the bazaar, crossing the Golden Horn
to Stamboul by the old bridge, which has sunk so in places that you
feel as if a _ground-swell_ had been somehow consolidated and was
doing service as a bridge; up through the narrow streets of Stamboul,
now standing aside to let a string of donkeys pass loaded with large
stones fastened by ropes to their pack-saddles, or stepping into a
doorway to let a dozen small horses go by with their loads of boards,
three or four planks being strapped on each side, one end sticking
out in front higher than their heads, and the other dragging on the
ground, scraping along and raising such a dust you are not at all sure
some neighboring lumber-yard has not taken it into its head to walk
off bodily. Fruit-venders scream their wares, Turkish officers on
magnificent Arab horses prance by, and the crowd of strange and
picturesque costumes bewilders you; and through all the noise and
confusion glide the silent, veiled women. One almost doubts one's own
identity. I was suddenly recalled to _my_ senses, however, by a
gentle thump on the elbow, and turning beheld the head of a diminutive
donkey. I supposed it
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