Sometimesin the summer afternoons, in large parties, and in big springless waggons, we drove to the olive woods or the vineyards near the seashore. In spite of our veils, we just revelled in the beauty of the sky and the scenery all round. Sometimes we spent all day in the country, lunching on the grass, and playing like children, happy, though not free. Then we went for excursions—wonderful excursions to the ruins of Ephesus and Hierapolis and Parganu. Those women who had learnt Ancient History explained the ruins to the others, and all that mass of crumbling stones took life and breath for us captives.
Many times, too, we stayed with the country people, who divided up their rooms for us, and we lived their life for a time. Those were the moments when I learnt to know and appreciate our fine, trustworthy, primitive Turks. Withwhat kindness they took care of us, paying particular attention to our beds, our meals, our horses, even our attendant eunuchs! Whole families put themselves at our disposal, and very often they would not let us pay for anything we had had during our stay. In no country in the world, I am sure, could such hospitality and such cordial generosity be found, being as we were to them perfect strangers.
One day at Gondjeli, after having visited the ruins of Taacheer, we lost the last train home. One of our attendants, however, called on the Imam, who was known throughout the village for his kindness. He and his wife, a delightful woman whom I shall never forget, not only gave us food and lodging for the night, but the next day begged us to stay longer.
We were five women and three attendants. The meals offered us were abundant; the beds, simple mattresses thrown on the floor, were spotlessly clean, and ever so daintily arranged; and the next morning, early, before we dressed, our baths were ready. When the moment of departure came mother wished to leave them something for all the trouble they had taken. But the old Imam answered: “My child,there are no poor in our village. Each man here has his own little bit of ground to till, and enough bread to eat. Why should he ask Allah for more?”
I have often thought of those words. Every time I used to look at the useless luxury of our Turkish households, the Imam’s little modest dwelling and his kindly face rose up to reproach me.—Your affectionate
Zeyneb.
Nice,Feb.1907.
Wehave just returned from Cap Martin, where we have had the pleasure and honour of being introduced to the Empress Eugénie, the person of all persons I hoped to meet in Europe. Never will she know how much I have appreciated seeing her to-day, and all the charming past she called back to my memory.
Imagine actually seeing in the flesh, the heroine of your grandmothers’ stories; the Empress whose beauty fascinated the East, the Empress whose clothes the women copied, whose language they learnt, the woman who had, though perhaps she may not know it, the greatest influence on the lives of Turkish women. It seemed to me as I looked at the ex-Empress, that I was back in Constantinople again, but the Constantinople that my grandmother hadknown, the Constantinople where the Sultan Abdul-Aziz reigned and the life of the Turkish women was one of independence compared to ours.
The Empress remembered with great pleasure every detail of her visit to the East. She spoke of the persons she had known, and asked for news of them. Alas! so many were dead, and others scattered to the four corners of the Empire!
She remembered the town, the Palaces, and the marble Beylerbei which had been built specially for her. So kindly, too, did she speak of the Sultan Aziz, saying how welcome he had made her, and how his people loved him.
Was it possible without appearing unpatriotic to make her understand that the lovely Palace in which she had stayed, the Palace which had echoed with the sounds of Eastern music and dancing and singing, was now being put to a very different usage? During Hamid’s reign Palaces are not required for festivity, but captivity. Many unfortunate souls have only known Beylerbei as the stepping stone to Eternity!
I should have liked to remind the Empress, had I dared, of the impression her beauty had made on the women.
Yashmak and MantleYashmak and Mantle (Feradjé)
Yashmak and Mantle (Feradjé)
She is an old lady now, but she did not seem so to me. I was looking at the Empress my countrywomen had admired, the Empress for whom they had sacrificed their wonderful Eastern garments; I saw the curls they had copied, the little high-heeled shoes she wore, and even the jewels she had liked best.
“Are the women still as much veiled as when I was in Constantinople?” asked the Empress; and when I told her that a thick black veil had taken the place of the white Yachmack, she could hardly believe it. “What a pity!” she said, “it was so pretty.”
The home in which I saw the Empress, reminded me of one of our Turkish Islands. The sea was as blue and the sky as clear, and the sun, which forced her to change her place several times, was almost as intense. With an odour of pine wood was mixed a fragrant perfume of violets, and the more I looked at it, the more Oriental did the landscape become.
Having spoken so much about the past and the people and the country we have left for ever, it seemed to me that all of us had given way to the inevitable Oriental sadness, yet we fought against it, for there were other visitors there.
I shall always regret not having had the opportunity of seeing the Empress alone; it seemed to me that so much of what I might have told her had been left unsaid, and I know she would have been so glad to listen.—Your affectionate
Zeyneb.
Nice,March1907.
I canassure you, I do not exaggerate our Oriental hospitality. Go to Turkey and you will see for yourself that everywhere you will be received like a Queen. Everyone will want to be honoured by your presence in their home.
The most modest household has its rooms for themussafirsor guests. In wealthy establishments, the guest is given the choicest furniture, the daintiest golden goblets and bon-bon dishes, the best and finest linen and embroideries, a little trousseau for her own use, and slaves in constant attendance.
I never remember sitting down to a meal without guests being present. All our rooms for themussafirswere filled, and in this matter my family was by no means the exception;everyone received with the same pleasure. In England, I believe, you do have guest-rooms, but here in France they do not understand the elements of hospitality.
You cannot imagine how it shocked me when I first heard a French son paid his father for board, and that here in France for a meal received, a meal must be returned. Surely this is not the case in England?
Often have I tried to find a satisfactory explanation of this lack of hospitality in the French. I put it down first to the cost of living, then to the limited accommodation, then to the disobliging servants, but I have now come to the conclusion that it is one of their national characteristics, and it is useless to waste time trying to explain it.
Let us know as soon as possible when you are coming.
*****
After the description I have given you of our life in Smyrna you will understand how sorry we were to return to Constantinople. Even the delight of again seeing our parents could not console us. As soon as we were back again began the same monotony and perpetual dread,and the Hamidian régime made life more and more impossible.
Melek in Yashmak.Melek in Yashmak
Melek in Yashmak
The year that the Belgian anarchist tried to kill the Sultan Hamid, was certainly the worst I have ever spent. Even the Armenian Massacres, which were amongst the most haunting and horrible souvenirs of our youth, could not be compared with what we had then to bear. Arrests went on wholesale! Thousands were “suspect,” questioned, tortured perhaps. And when the real culprit had declared his guilt before the whole tribunal and had proved that it was he, and he alone, who had thrown the bomb, the poor prisoners were not released.
It was in the summer. Up till then in the country, a woman could go out in the evening, if she were accompanied, but this was at once prohibited; every Turkish boat which was not a fishing boat was stopped; in the streets all those who could not prove the reason for being out were arrested; no longer were visits to the Embassies possible, no longer could the ladies from the Embassies come to see us; no “white dinners,” no meeting of friends. There were police stationed before the doors, and we dared not play the piano for fear of appearing toogay, when our “Sovereign Lord’s” life had been in danger.
Of course no letters could be received from our Western friends. The foreign posts were searched through and through, and nearly all the movement of the daily life was at an end. One evening my sister and I went outside to look at the moonlit Bosphorus. Although accompanied by a male relative, three faithful guardians of the safety of our beloved Monarch stepped forward and asked for explanations as to why we were gazing at the sea. Not wishing to reply, we were asked to follow them to the nearest police station. My sister and I went in, leaving our relative to explain matters, and I can assure you that was the last time we dared to study moon effects. Never, I think, more than that evening, was I so decided to leave our country, come what might! Life was just one perpetual nightmare, and for a long time after, even now in security, I still dream of these days of terror.
I remember full well what importance was given to the French 1st of May riots. When I myself saw one of the strikers throw a stone which nearly blinded a doctor, called in hasteto see a patient, and saw his motor stopped and broken to pieces and the chauffeur thrashed, I thought of the days of our Armenian massacres—the awful days of Hamidian carnage—and the 1st of May riots seemed to me a Revolution arranged to amuse little children.—Your affectionate
Zeyneb.
Nice,March1907.
Thereare habits, my dearest friend, which cannot be lost in the West any more than they can be acquired in the East. You know what a terrible task it is for a Turkish woman to write a letter—even a Turkish woman who pretends to be Western in many ways. Can you, who belong to a race which can quietly take a decision and act upon it, understand this fault of ours, which consists of always putting off till the morrow what should be done the same day? Thanks to this laziness, we Turks are where we are to-day. Some people call itkismet; you can find it in almost all our actions. Since we started, now a year ago, I have been expecting an answer to a letter sent the day after my arrival here. It will come; Allah knows when, but it will come.
But I am as bad as my friend, you will say.Three weeks ago I began this letter to you, and it is not finished yet, for all I am doing is so strange and curious, I feel I must let you know all about it.
It was at Monte Carlo that I first saw and heard the wonderful operas of Wagner. When I heard they were performingRheingold, in spite of medical advice not to go into a theatre, I could not keep away. Since my childhood, I had longed to hear an orchestral interpretation of the works of this genius. I seemed to have a presentiment that it would be to me an incomparable revelation, and I was not disappointed.
Do you know what it is, to have loved music all your life and never to have an opportunity of hearing a first-class concert? My father used to invite the distinguished women artistes, passing through Constantinople, to come to sing and play for us. He, too, was passionately fond of music. But what I longed above all to hear was a full orchestra, and Wagner! So that, when I was actually at Monte Carlo listening to the entrancing work of this Master, it was as though I had been blind all my days and had at last received my sight.
It was wonderful! It was magnificent! Itmoved my very soul! Why should we regret having left our country when such masterpieces as this are yet to be heard?
I did not want to stir. I wanted to remain under the spell of that glorious music! But the theatre authorities thought differently, and in a little while the beautiful performance ofRheingoldbecame one of my most happy memories.
*****
The scene changes. From my first beautiful impression of music I came to look upon that most degrading spectacle of your Western civilisation—I mean gambling. I had never realised till now that collective robbery could be so shameful! That a poor, unintelligent, characterless being can come to Monte Carlo, ruin himself and his family, and kill himself without anyone taking the trouble to pity him a little or have him treated like a sick man, is to me incomprehensible. When I told the lady and gentleman, who accompanied me, the impression that their gaming-tables had on me, they smiled; indeed they made an effort not to laugh.
I remained long enough to study that strangecollection of heads round the table with their expressions all so different, but the most hideous which I have ever seen.
I had received that day two new and very different impressions; one the impression of the highest form of art and the other the impression of perhaps the saddest of all modern vices.
The whole night through I was torn between these two impressions. Which would get the better of me? I tried to hum little passages ofRheingold, and fix my attention on Wagner’s opera and the joy it had been to me, but in spite of my efforts my thoughts wandered, and I was far away in Turkey.
In our cloistered homes I had heard vague rumours of magic games, the players at which lost their all or made a colossal fortune according to the caprice of fate. But I did not pay much attention to this fairy tale. Now, however, I have seen and believe, and a feeling of terrible anxiety comes over me whenever I think of the honest men of my own country, who are concentrating all their energies on the acquirement of Western civilisation. They will not accept Europeanism in moderate doses— they will drain the cup to the very dregs—this awful vice, as well as drunkenness and all your other weaknesses.
In the course of time I fell asleep. I was back in Turkey enduring the horrors of the Hamidian régime.Rheingoldwas forgotten, and the azure of the Mediterranean Sea, the flowers, and the summer dresses. I went from scene to scene, one more awful than the other, but everywhere I went and to everything I saw were attached the diabolical faces I had seen at the Monte Carlo gaming-tables.—Your affectionate
Zeyneb.
Hendaye,July1907.
Whata relief! What a heart-felt relief to leave Paris! Paris with its noise and clamour and perpetual and useless movement! Paris which is so different from what I expected!
We have had in Paris what you English people call a “season,” and I shall require many months of complete rest, to get over the effects of that awful modern whirlwind.
What an exhausting life! What unnecessary labour! And what a contrast to our calm harem existence away yonder. I think—yes, I almost think I have had enough of the West now, and want to return to the East, just to get back the old experience of calm.
Picture to yourself the number of new faces we have seen in six weeks. What a collection of women—chattering, irritating, inquisitive, demonstrative, and obliging women, who inviteyou again and again, and when you do go to their receptions you get nothing for your trouble but crowding and pushing.
All the men and women in Paris are of uncertain years. The pale girl who serves the tea might be of any age from fifteen to thirty, and the men with the well-trimmed fingers and timid manners are certainly not sixty, but they might be anything up to forty.
But where are the fewintellectuelles? Lost between the lace and the teacups. They look almost ashamed of being seen there at all. They have real knowledge, and to meet them is like opening the chapter of a valuable Encyclopedia; but hardly has one taken in the discovery, when one is pushed along to find the conclusion of the chapter somewhere in the crowd, if indeed it can be found.
As you know, since our arrival from Nice we have not had one free evening. TheGrandes Damesof France wanted to get a closer view of two Turkish women, and they have all been charming to us, especially the elder ones.
Yes, charming is the word which best applies to all these society ladies, young and old, and is notto be charmingthe modern ideal of civilisation? These women are all physically the model of a big Paris dressmaker, and morally what society allows them to be—some one quite inoffensive. But it is not their fault that they have all been formed on the same pattern, and that those who have originality hide it under the same exterior as the others, fearful lest such a blemish should even be suspected!
But really, am I not a little pedantic? How can I dare to come to such a conclusion after a visit which lasts barely a quarter of an hour?
At luncheon and dinner the favourite topics of conversation are the pieces played at the theatres or the newest books. Marriage, too, is always an interesting subject, and everyone seems eager to get married in spite of the thousand and one living examples there are to warn others of what it really is. This supreme trust in a benign Fate amuses me. Every bride-elect imagines it is she who will be the one exception to the general rule. Turkish women do not look forward to matrimony with the same confidence.
Divorce has a morbid fascination for the men and women here: so have other people’s misfortunes. And as soon as a man or woman isdown—a woman particularly—everyone delights in giving his or her contribution to the moral kicking.
I must own, too, I cannot become enthusiastic about Mdlle. Cecile Sorel’s clothes nor the grace of a certain Russian dancer. What I would like to talk about would be some subject which could help us two peoples to understand each other better, but such subjects are carefully avoided as tiresome.
Do you remember how anxious we were to hear Strauss’sSalomediscussed, and what it was in all this work which interested these Paris Society ladies?—nothing more nor less than whether it was Trohohanova or Zambelli who was to dance the part of Salome.
That was a disappointment for me! All my life I looked forward to being in a town where music was given the place of honour, for in Constantinople, as you know, there is music for everyone except the Turkish woman.
I had no particular desire to see the monuments of Paris, and now I have visited them my affection for them is only lukewarm. The Philistine I am! I wish I dared tell the Parisians what I really thought of them andtheir beautiful Paris! I had come above all things to educate myself in music, and now I find that they, with their unbounded opportunities, have shamefully failed to avail themselves of what to me, as a Turkish woman, is the great chance of a lifetime.
Yesterday afternoon, accompanied by M. Pierre Loti, we visited the cemetery of Birreyatou. Its likeness to Turkey attracted us at once, for all that is Eastern has a peculiar fascination for Loti. There were the same cypress trees and plants that grow in our cemeteries, and the tombs were cared for in a manner which is quite unusual in Western Europe.
To go for a walk in a burial-ground I know is exclusively an Eastern form of amusement. But wait till you have seen our cemeteries and compared them with your own, then you will understand better this taste of ours. Oh, the impression of loneliness and horror I felt when I first saw a Western cemetery! It was Père La Chaise, the most important of them all. Iwent there to steal a leaf from the famous weeping willow on Musset’s grave, and to my great surprise I found by the Master’s tomb, amongst other tokens of respect, a Russian girl’s visiting card with the corner turned down. But this was an exception. How you Western people neglect your dead!
I could not for a long time explain to myself this fear of death, but since I have seen here the painful scenes connected with it—the terror of Extreme Unction,18the visit of the relatives to the dead body, the funeral pomp, the hideous black decorations on the horses’ heads, and last but not least the heart-rending mourning—I, too, am terrified.
We, like the Buddhists, have no mourning. The Angel of Death takes our dear ones from us to a happier place, and night and morning we pray for them. The coffin is carried out on men’s shoulders in the simplest manner possible, and the relatives in the afternoon take their embroidery and keep the dear ones company. It is as if they were being watched in their sleep, and they are very, very near.
Zeyneb in her Western Drawing Room.Zeyneb in her Western Drawing RoomShe is playing the oute, or Turkish guitar, which is played with a feather. Although Turkish women are now good pianists and fond of Western music, they generally like to play the oute at least once a day.
Zeyneb in her Western Drawing RoomShe is playing the oute, or Turkish guitar, which is played with a feather. Although Turkish women are now good pianists and fond of Western music, they generally like to play the oute at least once a day.
Yet here in the West what a difference! I shudder at the thought that some day I might have to rest in one of these untidy waste heaps, and that idea has been preying on my mind so that I have actually written to my father and begged him, should I die in Paris, to have me taken home and buried in a Turkish cemetery.
*****
Did I ever tell you of my visit to the Comédie Française? Alas, alas! again I have to chronicle a disappointment. I am trying to think what I pictured to myself I was going to see, and I am not at all clear about it. In my childish imagination I must have thought of something I willneversee.
Naturally the piece played wasŒdipus Rex. Every time I am invited to the Comédie Française I seeŒdipus Rex. It seems a particular favourite in Paris, I am sure I cannot tell why.
The scenery was perfect, so were the costumes, but you cannot imagine how uncomfortable I was when I heard the actors, together or one after the other, screaming, moaning, hissing, andcalling on the whole audience to witness a misfortune, which was only too obvious.
All the actors were breathless, hoarse, exhausted—in sympathy I was exhausted too, and longed for theentr’acte. Then when at last a pause did come, I began to hope in the next scene a little calm would be established and the actors take their task a little more leisurely. But no! they cried out louder still, threw themselves about in torture, and gesticulated with twice as much violence.
When I heard the voice of Œdipus it reminded me of the night watchers in my own country giving the fire alarm, and all those Turks who have heard it are of the same opinion. As I left the theatre tired out, I said to myself, “Surely it is not possible that this is the idea the Greeks had of Dramatic Art.”
What a difference to the theatre I had known in Turkey! Sometimes our mothers organised excursions, and we were taken in long springless carts, dragged by oxen, to the field of Conche-Dili in the valley of Chalcedonia, where there was a kind of theatre, or caricature of a theatre, built of unpainted wood, which held about four hundred people.
The troop was composed of Armenian men and women who had never been at the Paris Conservatoire, but who gave a fine interpretation of the works of Dumas, Ohnet, Octave Feuillet, and Courteline. The stage was small and the scenery was far from perfect, but the Moslem women were delighted with this open-air theatre, although they had to sit in latticed boxes and the men occupied the best seats in the stalls.
During theentr’acte, there was music and singing, the orchestra being composed of six persons who played upon stringed instruments. The conductor beat time on a big drum, and sometimes he sang songs of such intense sadness that we wondered almost whence they came.
That was a dear little theatre, the theatre of my childhood. Primitive though it was, it was very near to me as I listened to the piercing cries of alarm sent out by Œdipus. Would they not, these rustic actors of the Chalcedonian valley, I wonder, have given a truer and better interpretation of the plays of Sophocles?
Guess, my dear, where I have been this afternoon. Guess, guess! I, a Turkish woman, have been to a bull-fight! There were many English people present. They are, I am told, thehabituésof the place, and they come away, like the Spaniards, almost intoxicated by the spectacle.
This is an excitement which does not in the least appeal to me. Surely one must be either prehistoric or decadent to get into this unwholesome condition of the Spaniards. Is the sight of a bull which is being killed, and perhaps the death of a toreador, “such a delightful show,” to quote the exact words of my American neighbour? He shouted with frenzy whilst my sister and two Poles, unable to bear the sight of the horses’ obtruding intestines, had to be led out of the place in an almost fainting condition.
As for myself, I admit to having admired two things, the suppleness of the men and the brilliant appearance of the bull-ring. The women of course lent a picturesque note to theensemblewith their sparkling jewels, their faces radiant as those of the men, their darkeyes dancing with excitement, and their handsome gowns and their graceful mantillas. But shall I ever forget the hideous sight of the poor horse staggering out of the ring, nor the roars of the wounded bull? It was a spectacle awful to look upon. What a strange performance for a Turkish woman, used to the quiet of our harem life!
Perhaps, however, for those to whom life has brought no emotion or sorrow, no joy or love, those who have never seen the wholesale butchery to which we, alas! had almost become accustomed—perhaps to these people this horrible sight is a necessity. Spanish writers have told me they have done their best work after a bull-fight, and before taking any important step in life they needed this stimulus to carry them safely through. I can assure you, however, I heaved a sigh of relief when the performance was over, and not for untold gold would I ever go to see it again.
After leaving the scene I have described to you, we followed the crowd to a little garden planted with trees, which is situated in the Calle Mayor and stretches along the side of the stream till it meets the Bidassoa. This is thespot where, on cool evenings, men and maidens meet to dance the Fandango. Basque men with red caps are seated in the middle to supply the music. On the sandy earth, which is the ballroom, the couples dance, in and out of the gnarled trees, to the rhythm of dance music, that is strange and passionate and at the same time almost languishing.
The music played was more Arabian than anything I have yet heard in the West, but unfortunately the modern note too was creeping into these delightful measures. The Basques with their red caps, bronzed faces, white teeth, and fine manly figures, the women with their passionate and supple movements and decorated mantillas, and the almost antique frame of Fontarabia, proud of its past, hopeful for its future, were all so new and so different to me.
But it is dark now, the dancing has ceased, the crowd has dispersed. How good it is to be out at this hour of the evening. I, who am free (or think I am), delight in the fact there are no Turkish policemen to question me as to what I am doing.
*****
But alas! alas! I spoke of my freedom alittle too soon. Even in this quiet city can I not pass unobserved?
“Have you anything to declare?” a Custom House officer asks me.
“Yes,” I replied, “my hatred of your Western ‘Customs,’ and my delight at being alive.”—Your affectionate friend,
Zeyneb.
Hendaye,August1907.
Youask me to describe the life a Turkish woman leads during Ramazan.
The evenings of Ramazan are the only evenings of the year when she has the right to be out of doors; the time when she seizes every opportunity of meeting her friends and arranging interesting soirées; the time when she goes on foot or drives to the Mosques to hear the Imams explain the Word of the Prophet.
Need I remind you, unlike the women of the lower and middle classes, who go outeveryevening, the more important the family to which a woman belongs, the more difficult is it for her to go out.
It is for the evenings of Ramazan that most amusements are arranged, and our husbands, fathers, and brothers usually patronise the travelling circus, Turkish theatre, performancesof Karakheuz.19The women on their side have their dinners, Oriental dancing, and conversation which lasts deep into the night.
Amongst my most delightful remembrances of Constantinople are the Ramazan visits to St. Sophia and the Chah-zade Mosque. From the height of a gallery reserved for women, which is separated from the rest of the church by a thick wooden lattice-work, hundreds of “Believers” are to be seen, seated on the ground round the Imam, who reads and preaches to them. All the oil lamps are lighted for the thirty days, and the incense burning in the silver brasiers rises with the prayers to Heaven. Not a voice is to be heard save that of the Imam (preacher), and the most wonderful impression of all is that created by the profound silence.
And yet children are there—little ones asleep in their mother’s arms, little girls in the women’s gallery, whilst boys over eight are counted men, and sit beside their fathers on the ground, their little legs tucked under them.
Turkish Ladies Paying a Visit.Turkish Ladies Paying a VisitEvery visitor is given coffee and cigarettes on arriving. The three ladies shown are Zeyneb, Melek, and a friend seated between them. A verse from the Koran hangs on the wall.
Turkish Ladies Paying a VisitEvery visitor is given coffee and cigarettes on arriving. The three ladies shown are Zeyneb, Melek, and a friend seated between them. A verse from the Koran hangs on the wall.
On returning home supper is ready for three o’clock, and an hour later the cannon announcethe commencement of a fresh day of fasting. After a short prayer in one’s own room, sleep takes possession of us until late the next day, sometimes until almost four o’clock, when everyone must be up and again ready for the firing of the cannon which gives permission to eat and drink and smoke.
With us fasting20is more strict than it is in the West. From sunrise to sunset, no one would dare to touch a mouthful of food or even smoke.
When we are lucky enough to have Ramazan during the winter months the fasting hours are shorter, but when it comes in the month of August “Believers” have to fast for sixteen hours, and the labourers suffer much in consequence.
Imagine how long a soirée can be, when you begin dinner at half-past four! What must we not think of to amuse our guests, for no one dines alone! The Oriental hospitality demands that every evening friends should assemble, and acquaintances come without even letting you know. When people are known to be rich,the poor and complete strangers come to them to dinner. I remember being at one house which was filled to overflowing with women of all classes, most of whom had never before even seen the hostess.
At the Palaces a special door is built, through which anyone who wants to dine can enter, and after the meal money is distributed. You can understand while this patriarchal system exists there is no reason for the poor to envy the rich. Turkey is the only country in Europe which in this respect lives according to Christ’s teaching, but no doubt in the march of progress all these beautiful customs will disappear.
I have often thought when in a Western drawing-room, where one stays a few minutes, and eats perhaps a sandwich, how different are our receptions in the East. We meet without being invited, talk till late in the night, and a proper supper is served.
It surprises me, too, in the West to meet such poor linguists. In Turkey it is quite usual to hear discussions going on in five European languages without one foreigner being present.
Wait till you have taken part in some of these Ramazan gatherings, and have seen what hospitality really is, then you will understand my rather slighting remarks about your Western society.
*****
I am constantly being asked how a Turkish woman amuses herself. I have a stock answer ready: “That depends on what you call amusement.”
It sounds futile to have to remind my questioners that amusement is a relative quality, and depends entirely on one’s personal tastes. The Spaniards are mad with delight at the sight of a bull-fight—to me it was disgusting; and yet, probably, were those bull-fights to take place in Turkey, I should enjoy them. We used to have in the country exhibitions of wrestling at which whole families were present. Travelling circuses were also a favourite amusement, but during the last years of Hamid’s reign Turkish women have been forbidden the pleasures of going to a travelling theatre and Karakheuz, the most appreciated of all the Eastern amusements.
Tennis, croquet, and other games are impossible for us, neither is rowing allowed: to have indulged in that sport was to expose myself to the criticism of the whole capital.
Although the people of the West are so fond of walking as a recreation, the pleasure that aTurkishwoman can obtain from a walk is practically non-existent, and most of us would be insulted if asked, as I have been in Paris, to walk for two hours.
We are fond of swimming, but how is this taste to be indulged when women are only allowed to swim in an enclosed place, surrounded by a high wall? Surely the only charm of swimming is to be in the open sea.
Those who are fond of music have either to go without, learn to play themselves, or take the terrible risk of disguising themselves as Europeans and go to a concert.
Towards 1876 we began playing bezique, but that craze did not last long, and a short time afterwards cards were considered bad form. ThePerotes,21however, still remain faithful to card-playing, and have more than one reason to prefer this pastime to all the others in which they might indulge. Unlike thePerotes, we Turkish women never played cards for money.
You might think from my letters that travelling in the country was quite an ordinary event for women of our class: on the contrary, it is quite exceptional, and perhaps only ten families in all Turkey have travelled as we travelled in our own country.
So you see a Turkish woman is not very ambitious for “amusement” as you Western people understand the word. When she is allowed to travel in foreign countries as she likes, I believe she will be more satisfied with her lot.
All the Turks I have met since I came to Europe are of my opinion, but we shall see what will happen when their theories are put into practice.
Since it has been my privilege to meet my countrymen I have found out what fine qualities they possess. Indeed it is wrong for custom to divide so markedly our nation into two sexes and to create such insuperable barriers between them. We shall never be strong until we are looked upon as one, and can mix freely together. The Turks have all the qualities necessary to make good husbands and fathers, and yet we have no opportunity of knowing even the men we marry until wearemarried.
How I wish that nine out of every ten of the books written on Turkey could be burned! How unjustly the Turk has been criticised! And what nonsense has been written about the women! I cannot imagine where the writers get their information from, or what class of women they visited. Every book I have read has been in some way unfair to the Turkish woman. Not one woman has really understood us! Not one woman has credited us with the possession of a heart, a mind, or a soul.—Your affectionate friend,
Zeyneb.
*****
The year of 1908 was a year of mourning for Zeyneb and Melek. For them began that bitter period, when a woman has the opportunity of judging independence at its true value, without a father and a substantial income as buffers between them and life.
*****
During that year, too, Melek married.
Zeyneb remained alone.
London,Nov.-Dec.1908.
Abouta week ago,22whilst you were writing your first letter to me and speaking of the beautiful Eastern sun that was shining through your latticed window, what a different experience was mine in London. I was walking by myself in the West End, when suddenly, the whole city was shrouded in one of those dense fogs to which you no doubt have become accustomed. I could not see the name of the streets nor the path at the opposite side, so I wandered on for a little while, only to discover that I had arrived back at the same place.
There was no one to show me the way, and the English language that I had spoken frominfancy seemed of no use to me, since no one took any notice of my questions.
I looked in vain for a policeman. Your London policemen are so amiable and clever. Whatever difficulty I have, they seem to be able to help me, and the most curious of all curious things is, they will not accept tips! What wonderful men! and what a difference from our policemen in Constantinople! In Constantinople, I trembled almost at the sight of a policeman, but here I cannot imagine what I should do without them.
However, after losing myself and getting back always to the same point, I finally struck out in a new direction, and walked on and on until, when I was least expecting it, I found that just by chance I was safe in front of my club. You can perhaps imagine my relief. It seemed to me as if I had escaped from some terrible danger, and I wonder more and more how you English people manage to find your way in one of these dense fogs.
When I got into my club, I found your letter waiting me, and the Turkish post-mark cheered me just a little, and made me forget for a while the hideous black mantle in which London was wrapt.
On those evenings when I dine at “my club” (see how English I have become!) I eat alone, studying all the time the people I see around me. What a curious harem! and what a difference from the one in which you are living at present.
The first time I dined there I ordered the vegetarian dinner, expecting to have one of those delicious meals which you are enjoying (you lucky woman!), which consists of everything that is good. But alas! the food in this harem has been a disappointment to me. Surely I must not accept this menu as a sample of what English food really is.
On a little table all to myself, I was served with, first of all, rice which was cooked not as in Turkey, and as a second course I had carrots cooked in water! After sprinkling on them quantities of salt and pepper I could not even then swallow them, so I asked for pickles, but as there were none, that dish was sent away almost untouched to join the first. Next I was served with a compote of pears without sugar, but that also did not come up to my expectations. I ate up, however, all my bread and asked for more. Then the waiter kindly wentfrom table to table to see how much he could collect, brought just a handful, and informed me he really could not give me any more. But I told him it was not enough. “I want a very large piece,” I said, so finally he decided to consult the butler, went to the kitchen, and brought me back a loaf to myself.
All this while, the curious people around me had been staring at me devouring my loaf, but after a while they wearied of that exciting entertainment, their faces again resumed their usual calm expression, and they went on once more talking to one another. Sometimes, but not often, they almost got interested in their neighbour’s remark, but as soon as the last words were uttered again they adopted a manner which seemed to me one of absolute indifference.
As you know, I do not swear by everything Turkish, but you must now admit from experience that when once the Danube is crossed the faces to be seen do express some emotion, either love or hate, contentment or disappointment, but not indifference. Since I left Belgrade, I have tried, almost in vain, to find in the Western faces the reflection of some personality, and so few examples have I found that their names wouldnot certainly fill this page. Here in London I met with the same disappointment. Have these people really lost all interest in life? They give me the impression that they all belong to the same family, so much alike are they in appearance and in facial expression.