Mrs. Wallace's Visit to the Sultan's Harem.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 40, 8 March 1884, Page 4

Mrs. Wallace's Visit to the Sultan's Harem.

The following is a description of the Sultan's harem taken from Wallace's " Light of the Harem" — Abroad, low divan of pale blue silk ran round the apartment. No pictures on the marble u alls, no books, no bric-a-brac, no trumpery "collections, "ceramics, esthetic trash, grave or gay, nor muffling hangings. These are not Oriental luxuries, but instead a cool, shady emptiness, plenty of space for the breeze to flutter the gauzy curtains and carry the eoho of the plash and drip of the fountains. At the farthest end, and reclining on pillows of silk and lace, rested the lady we sought. One little foot in red velvet slipper was first seen below wide trousers of yellow silk ; a loose robe of white silk, embroidered with gold thread, was perfectly covered by a sleeveless jacket of crimson, dotted with seed pearl ; a broad variegated sash wound the slender waist. Half concealing the arms was a light scarf, airy as the woven wind of the ancients. A headband, with diamond pendants, fringed her forehead ; a reviere of diamonds circled the bare throat, and here and there solitary drops flashed in the braids of her night-black hair. Among the billowy cushions and vaporous veilings rose the young face— oh, what a revelation of beauty ! —uplifted in a curious questioning way, to see what manner of women these are, who come from the ends of the earth, with unveiled faces and go about the world alone, and have to think for themselves — poor things ! The expression was that of a lovely child, walking from summer slumber in the

j happiesthumour, ready for play. A sensitive, exquisite face, fair asthefirsbof women while the angel was yet unfallen. A perfect oval, the lips a scarlet thread, and oh, those wonderful Asiatic eyes !— lustrous, coal-black, long, rather round, beaming under the joined eyebrows of which the poet Hafiz sings. .Nourmahal did not rise, but held out one jewelled hand, dimpled as a baby's, with nailsand finger-ends dyed pink with venna — five clustered rosebuds. The magic of beauty made us her subjects. We kissed the little fingers loyally, and yielded ourselves willing captives ready to be dragged at the chariot wheels. My life-long notions of the subjection of a woman (see Stuart Mill) and the wretchedness of prisoners pining in palatial splendours vanished at the first glance — went down at a touch, like the wounded knight in the lists of Templestowe She smiled and hoped we were well ; then followed suitable inquiries as to health and journeys, and expressions of the charm of finding it all out. I ventured the high assertion that we had sailed 6000 miles on purpose to lay our homage at her blessed feet, which rhetorical flourish was received with a childish nod at about what it was worth. Somehow she did not seem so enchanted with her new worshippers as they were with her. It seemed the beauty had never seen the sea except frem the shore. At the signal the slaves disappeared, except one old woman and the negroes, silent as ghosts, beside the Lahore drapery. In a few minutes five slaves returned, each carrying a small round table of cedar, inlaid with scrips of mother-of-pearl. Five others followed with lighted cigarettes, lying each in a silver saucer ; and coffee in tiny cups, about the size of a giant's thimble, resting in a silver filagree holder, set round with diamonds. "MyneAV friends have come far," said Nourmahal, " they must be tired. Take a cigarette and refresh yourselves." I rather awkwardly adjusted the holder of amber and ventured one faint whiff. Imagine my astonishment at seeing my friend, whose name with difficulty I suppress, puff away like a dissipated old smoker. The Ai'menian was native and to themannerborn. Nourmahal smoked, of course, and a lulling calm succeeded the excitement of the brilliant conversation reported above. While feeling around in my brain for a subject of common interest, adapted to my hostess' capacity and mine, I tried a sip of the coffee. It was strong enough to bear up an egg, thick with grounds, and bitter as death. I pretended to deep enjoyment of the dose, and sipped it, drop by drop, to the bitter end. Nourmahal clapped her hands again and the ten virgins took away the saucers. I think none of them were foolish, for they fell into line without effort, each one treading in the footsteps of her predecessor, at an interval to avoid her train. "In this charming palace you must be very happy. How do you pass the time ?" The dimples deepened in the cheeks of Beauty. " Pass the time, pass the time ?" she dreamly repeated, playing with the knotted fringes of her scarf. "I do not pass it ; it passes itself !" and again she laughed, and the laughter was as sweet as the tenderest voice can make it. " Are you fond of music?" Threeladies in black : " Oh ! very." " Oh ! very." "Oh! very." ' ' Then you shall be amused. ' She clapped the rose-leaf palms and in marched eight women musicians (we saw no men that day but the harem guard), bearing stringed instruments, curious-looking things, like overgrown violins and half-finished guitars, and a round shell, with strings across, beaten with two sticks. ' ' Didst ever hear Arabic music, beloved ? No ? Thennever hast thou known sorrow,,, Since Jubal first struck the gamut there can have been no improvement in these compositions. How long the exei'cises lasted I am unable to record, but I do know we grew old fast under the beat, beat, hammer, hammer, in the terse, unmeaning notes of the banjo. In the brief interval at the end of a peculiarly agonizing strain, sung by the mulatto, I seized the moment to ask what were the words of the song, and was told it is a serenade, very ancient, dating back to the times of ignorance, before the coming of Mahomet, whose tomb is covered with the splendour of unceasing light.