Portrait of a woman in Turkish costume.
My head is so filled with everything that happened yesterday that I have to let it out! I was invited to dine with the Grand Vizier’s lady; no Christian has ever been invited for such an event. I decided that I wouldn’t satisfy her curiosity (which I bet was the point of her invitation) if I wore a traditional Turkish dress; so instead, I dressed like the women in the court of Vienna do. I went in a Turkish coach and was attended only by the woman who held my train and the Greek lady who was my interpreter. I was met by a black eunuch who helped me out of the coach and led me through several rooms where the slaves were sitting. They were dressed really nice too.
The lady was sitting on a sofa in a sable vest. She walked over to meet me, and introduced me to a dozen of her friends. She seemed really sweet and looks about fifty years old. I was so surprised to see that there’s really nothing grand in her house. The furniture was pretty modest and aside from the number of slaves she has, nothing about her seemed expensive. She totally knew what I was thinking because she told me that she no longer cares to spend her time or money on materialistic things, and that she's just concerned with charity and praying to God.
She was really hospitable and we talked until dinner was ready. Dinner was served one dish at a time. They use really rich spices in their food and the soup is served last. I felt bad that I couldn’t eat as much as the Lady wanted me to; she was so eager to serve me all kinds of food. At last, they served coffee and perfume, which is basically a sign of respect. The slaves kneeled and sprayed perfume in my hair, clothes, and handkerchief. After this, the Lady made her slaves play instruments and dance. Soon after, we left.
But the night wasn’t over yet. We visited the Kahya’s lady. I’m so glad to have gone there because it was such a difference from the Grand Vizier’s home. Lady Fatima, the Kahya’s lady, was sitting on a sofa covered with pretty Persian carpets and leaning on cushions of white satin. Two young and pretty girls covered in jewels sat at her feet. But they were hardly noticeable in comparison to fair Fatima. I have never seen anything so ridiculously beautiful and no face could ever draw attention like hers. She stood up to say hello and put her hand to hear heart with such sweetness. Although my interpreter told me Lady Fatima is beautiful, I was so amazed by her beauty that I was speechless for a few moments. Oh my God, her features! Her charm! Her perfectly proportional body! Her complexion! Her smile! Her eyes, so large and black and soft! Every angle of her face is beautiful.
After I caught my breath, I tried to find some kind of flaw in her; after examining her for a little bit, I found nothing. Nature had made her more beautiful than what Apelles could have ever painted. The most beautiful English woman would vanish near her.
Lady Fatima was wearing a caftan of gold brocade flowered with silver. The caftan was fitted and accentuated just the right parts. Her arms were decorated with bracelets of diamonds and her belt was set with diamonds too. On her head she wore a pink and silver Turkish handkerchief and her black hair was divided into many tresses. On the side of her head she was wearing a bunch of gorgeous jewels. I think you’re going to assume I am exaggerating her description. I read somewhere that women speak in rapture when they discuss beauty, but I don’t understand why they shouldn’t be allowed to do so. I’m not ashamed to say that I looked at the gorgeous Fatima with such pleasure that the finest sculpture couldn’t have given me.
Her maids sat beneath the sofa and I couldn’t help but imagine a picture of the ancient nymphs. I didn’t think such a beautiful scene ever existed. Lady Fatima ordered them to play and dance. I’m sure that the biggest prude on earth would have looked upon them and thought things I shouldn’t say. When the dance was over, four slaves came into the room and sprayed the air with perfume. Then they served us coffee in the prettiest china. Lady Fatima was so sweet; she called me Uzelle Sultanam, or the beautiful sultana, and felt bad that she couldn’t talk to me in English.
When I left, she gave me a basket of embroidered handkerchiefs. I swear I felt like I was in Mahomet’s paradise. I don’t know how all of this sounds to you but I hope you’re as excited as I am!
The lady was sitting on a sofa in a sable vest. She walked over to meet me, and introduced me to a dozen of her friends. She seemed really sweet and looks about fifty years old. I was so surprised to see that there’s really nothing grand in her house. The furniture was pretty modest and aside from the number of slaves she has, nothing about her seemed expensive. She totally knew what I was thinking because she told me that she no longer cares to spend her time or money on materialistic things, and that she's just concerned with charity and praying to God.
She was really hospitable and we talked until dinner was ready. Dinner was served one dish at a time. They use really rich spices in their food and the soup is served last. I felt bad that I couldn’t eat as much as the Lady wanted me to; she was so eager to serve me all kinds of food. At last, they served coffee and perfume, which is basically a sign of respect. The slaves kneeled and sprayed perfume in my hair, clothes, and handkerchief. After this, the Lady made her slaves play instruments and dance. Soon after, we left.
But the night wasn’t over yet. We visited the Kahya’s lady. I’m so glad to have gone there because it was such a difference from the Grand Vizier’s home. Lady Fatima, the Kahya’s lady, was sitting on a sofa covered with pretty Persian carpets and leaning on cushions of white satin. Two young and pretty girls covered in jewels sat at her feet. But they were hardly noticeable in comparison to fair Fatima. I have never seen anything so ridiculously beautiful and no face could ever draw attention like hers. She stood up to say hello and put her hand to hear heart with such sweetness. Although my interpreter told me Lady Fatima is beautiful, I was so amazed by her beauty that I was speechless for a few moments. Oh my God, her features! Her charm! Her perfectly proportional body! Her complexion! Her smile! Her eyes, so large and black and soft! Every angle of her face is beautiful.
After I caught my breath, I tried to find some kind of flaw in her; after examining her for a little bit, I found nothing. Nature had made her more beautiful than what Apelles could have ever painted. The most beautiful English woman would vanish near her.
Lady Fatima was wearing a caftan of gold brocade flowered with silver. The caftan was fitted and accentuated just the right parts. Her arms were decorated with bracelets of diamonds and her belt was set with diamonds too. On her head she wore a pink and silver Turkish handkerchief and her black hair was divided into many tresses. On the side of her head she was wearing a bunch of gorgeous jewels. I think you’re going to assume I am exaggerating her description. I read somewhere that women speak in rapture when they discuss beauty, but I don’t understand why they shouldn’t be allowed to do so. I’m not ashamed to say that I looked at the gorgeous Fatima with such pleasure that the finest sculpture couldn’t have given me.
Her maids sat beneath the sofa and I couldn’t help but imagine a picture of the ancient nymphs. I didn’t think such a beautiful scene ever existed. Lady Fatima ordered them to play and dance. I’m sure that the biggest prude on earth would have looked upon them and thought things I shouldn’t say. When the dance was over, four slaves came into the room and sprayed the air with perfume. Then they served us coffee in the prettiest china. Lady Fatima was so sweet; she called me Uzelle Sultanam, or the beautiful sultana, and felt bad that she couldn’t talk to me in English.
When I left, she gave me a basket of embroidered handkerchiefs. I swear I felt like I was in Mahomet’s paradise. I don’t know how all of this sounds to you but I hope you’re as excited as I am!
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