red, were sleeping forward beneath the netting: the
steersman at the wheel and the man on the look-out were alone really
wide awake. Suddenly, I perceived dawning in the east a greenish light,
which became yellow as it ascended in the heavens; the low and flat
shore appeared like a black line upon this luminous background, and by
degrees the sea resumed its azure tint. An hour afterwards we were
within cannon-shot of the Seraglio; but, alas! a thick fog covered the
city. Constantinople was invisible--and I was deploring the mischance,
which was depriving me of a long-anticipated pleasure, when suddenly the
sun shone forth brightly, and the fog acquired as if by enchantment a
wonderful transparency. The curtain was, as it were, torn to bits, and
from all quarters at once there appeared to my dazzled eyes forests of
minarets with gilded peaks, thousands of cupolas blazing in the light,
hills covered with many-coloured houses, surrounded by verdure; an
immense succession of palaces with grotesque windows, blue-roofed
mosques, groves of cypress-trees and sycamores, gardens full of flowers,
a port filled as far as the eye could discern with ships, masts, and
flags; in a word, the whole of that enchanted city, which resembles less
an immense capital than an endless succession of lovely kiosks, built in
a boundless park, having lakes for docks, mountains for background,
forests for thickets, fleets for boats,--in fine, an incomparable spot,
and at the same time so grand and elegant, that it seems to have been
designed by fairies, and executed by giants.

Several writers have compared the view of Constantinople to that of
Naples. I cannot, however, agree with them. Any one can figure the
latter capital, whilst, on the contrary, the City of the Sultan
surpasses all that imagination can picture. Our enchantment, however,
was of short duration: the vapours again became condensed, the view was
gradually covered with a rosy haze, then became dim, and Constantinople
disappeared from before us like a dream. The Scamandre, which had
stopped for a few minutes, was again put in motion, and having rounded
the Seraglio, cast anchor in the midst of the strait which separates
Stamboul (the Turkish quarter) from Galata, (the European faubourg.) In
a moment the deck of our vessel was one scene of confusion: the sailors
were running to and fro, while the passengers were rushing one against
another, vociferating after their baggage. Around the v