CHAPTER XX.SUPERSTITION.Superstitious Character of the Dwellers in Turkey—Olympus—Klephtic Legends—The Vrykolakas—Local Spirits—A Vampire at Adrianople—Spirits of the Springs—Miraculous Cures—Magic—Influence upon Bulgarians—An Historiette—Antidotes for Spells—TheMeras Tas—Universal Belief in Magic, and the Consequences—Buyu Boghchas—TheBuyu Boghchasof Abdul-Medjid and Aziz—Quack Astrologers—A Superstitious Pasha—The Evil Eye—Remedies thereagainst—Spring Bleeding—Vipers—Means of expelling Vermin—Remedial Properties of Hebrew Beards—Dreams—Omens—Sultan Mahmoud’s Omen—Predictions—The Bloody Khan: Buried Treasure.
Superstitious Character of the Dwellers in Turkey—Olympus—Klephtic Legends—The Vrykolakas—Local Spirits—A Vampire at Adrianople—Spirits of the Springs—Miraculous Cures—Magic—Influence upon Bulgarians—An Historiette—Antidotes for Spells—TheMeras Tas—Universal Belief in Magic, and the Consequences—Buyu Boghchas—TheBuyu Boghchasof Abdul-Medjid and Aziz—Quack Astrologers—A Superstitious Pasha—The Evil Eye—Remedies thereagainst—Spring Bleeding—Vipers—Means of expelling Vermin—Remedial Properties of Hebrew Beards—Dreams—Omens—Sultan Mahmoud’s Omen—Predictions—The Bloody Khan: Buried Treasure.
There are few people so superstitious as the people of Turkey. All nations have their traditions and fancies, and we find educated Englishmen who dislike walking under a ladder on superstitious grounds; but in Turkey every action, every ceremony, every relation, is hedged round with fears and omens and forebodings. Whatever happens to you is the work of supernatural agencies, and can only be remedied by thenostrumsof some disreputable hag or some equally suspicious quack diviner. If you lose anything, it is the evil eye of some kind friend that has done it. If you look fixedly at anybody or anything, it is you who are trying to cast the evil eye. In short, nothing happens in Turkey unsupernaturally: there is always some spirit or magician or evil eye at the bottom of it. And this belief is not confined to the Turks: Greeks, Bulgarians, and even a good many Franks, are equally superstitious. Nor is this superstition, like the many harmless customs still observed in England, a mere luxury—an affectation: it is a matter of life and death. Not a few young girls have died from the belief that they were bewitched, or from some other superstitious shock; not a few homes have been made miserable by the meddlesome prophecies of a suborned astrologist.
A great centre of superstition is Mount Olympus. Since the gods deserted it the popular imagination has peopled it with spirits of every denomination, and Klephtic legend has added to the host. The Greek peasants have a superstitious horror of approaching the ruined villages at the foot of the mountain; making the sign of the cross, they take a circuitous by-path sooner than follow the deserted road that would lead them past the desecrated church, the neglected graveyards, the blackened ruins of the cottages, now believed to be haunted by the restless spirits of dead Klephts, who roam about in the silence of night, bemoaning their fate, and crying vengeance on the oppressors of their race. It is only on the anniversary of the patron saint of this deserted region that the surviving inhabitants of these once prosperous hamlets, bringing their descendants and carrying the aged and infirm as well as the youngest babes, set out on a pilgrimage to these spots hallowed by unforgotten wrongs, to pray for the souls of the dead and offermnemosynéto calm their restless spirits; and to inculcate in their children the sacred duty of vengeance on the tyrants who inflicted upon their ancestors those speechless injuries whose memory it is the object of these pilgrimages to preserve fresh and vengeful. The Turks, ever ready to accept their neighbors’ superstitions, dread these ruined villages no less than the Greeks. Peopled, as he believes them, by Peris and Edjinlis, no Turk will come near them, for fear of coming under some malign influence.
The Klephtic legends are full of the most terrible of all ghosts, theVrykolakas, or vampire. Many popular songs tell of this fearful spectre, who is the spirit of some traitor or other evil-doer who cannot be at peace in his grave, but is ever haunting the scene of his crime. One ghastly poem records the visit of a traitorous Klepht chieftain, Thanásê Vagía, as a vampire, to his widow. This man had betrayed his comrades to Ali Pasha, and their souls, heralded by the ghostly Kukuvagia, or owl of ill-omen, come and drag him from his grave and hurry him to Gardiki, where his deed of treachery was done. Suddenly they find the soul of the tyrant Ali Pasha, and, forgotten in the rush, Thanásê Vagía takes refuge with his widow. The dialogue between them is full of dramatic power; the horror of the wife at the livid apparition that seeks to embrace her, and the vampire’s terror in his miserable doom, are vividly told. At last the spectre is driven away by the touch of the cross, which he uncovers on his wife’s bosom. It is a striking poem, and brings home to one the living reality of this horrible superstition to the Greeks. As we have seen, they make periodical visits to the graves of their dead to discover whether the soul is at peace. If the body is not fully decomposed at the end of the year, they believe that their relation has become a Vrykolakas, and use every means to lay the spirit.
But the Vrykolakas, though the most ghastly of spirits, is not alone. There are invisible influences everywhere in Turkey. If the Vrykolakas haunts the graveyards, old Konaks have theiredjinlis, fountains theirperis, public baths their peculiar genii.
All these imaginary beings, whose existence is implicitly believed in, are expected to be encountered by the persons upon whom they may choose to cast their baneful or good influence. Their dreaded hostility is combated by the Christians by religious faith, such as an earnest appeal to Christ and the Virgin, by repeatedly crossing themselves in the name of both, or by taking hold of any sacred amulet they may have on their persons. These amulets consist of small portions of the “true cross” enshrined in crosses of silver, a crucifix, or an image of the Virgin, which, trustingly held and shown to the apparitions, have the effect of rendering them impotent and causing them to vanish. The Turks have recourse to the repetition of a certain form of prayer, and to theirmuskasor amulets, in which they place as much faith as the Christians do in theirs.
In 1872 the whole town of Adrianople was put in commotion by the nightly apparition of a spectre that showed itself at Kyik, a fine elevated part of the town, inhabited both by Christians and Mussulmans. This imaginary being, believed to be a Vrykolakas, was represented to me, by eye-witnesses of both creeds, who swore they had seen it listening about their houses in the twilight, as a long, slim, ugly-looking figure, with a cadaverous bearded face, clad in a winding-sheet; one of those restless spirits, in fact, who, not being allowed the privilege of peaceful decomposition in their tombs, still haunt the homes of the living, tapping at their doors, making strange noises, and casting their evil influence upon them. This comedy lasted a fortnight, during which in vain did the MussulmanHodjasand the Christian priests endeavor, by their prayers and incantations, to free the people from their alarming visitor. At last, it was rumored that the only human being possessing the power of doing so was a TurkishDjindji, or sorcerer, famous for his power over evil spirits, who lived in a town at some distance, but who could only be prevailed upon to come by payment of sevenlirasby the Kyik people. On the arrival of this man at Adrianople the supposed spirit disappeared. The belief of the inhabitants in the existence of the vampire was too deeply rooted to allow me to ascertain who was the charlatan that had benefited by this imposition on public credulity. I questioned a Greek woman who had seen it. She crossed herself, and said she would rather dispense with talking on the subject. On asking a Turk his opinion on the apparition, he said, “It must have been the spirit of some corrupt bribe-eating Kadi, forbidden the repose due to the remains of an honest man, and come back to trouble us with his presence after he has lost the power of fleecing us of our money!”
The spirits that have their abodes in mineral baths are specially courted by the sick, who are taken to the establishments and left under the beneficent care of these beings. The mineral bath of Kainadjah, near Broussa, is a dark dungeon-like place, extremely old, and much famed in the district for its healing powers. Its waters, strongly impregnated with sulphur, are boiling hot, rendering the atmosphere of the bath intolerable to any but the credulous, who, I suppose, support it, by virtue of the faith they place in the good to be derived from the trial. A crippled Turkish woman was taken to this bath at nightfall, with a written petition in her hand to the genii, and, according to the usual routine, was left alone in utter darkness in the inner bath till morning. The spirits of the place, if well disposed towards her and pleased with the sacrifice promised to them, would be expected to come in the course of the night and attend upon her. A copper bowl, left by the side of the patient, and knocked against the marble slabs in case assistance was required, was the only means of communication between the patient and her friends waiting outside.
This woman, for many years deprived of the use of her legs, had been brought from a distant part of the country. I had a chat with her before she underwent the treatment. She appeared fully sensible of the dangers it presented, but at the same time confident in the benefits expected to be derived, which the bath-women represented to her as being unfailing, owing to the supernatural aid the spirits would be sure to accord her. This cure, of a nature so exhausting to the system, and so telling upon the imagination, requires a great amount of moral courage and no small degree of physical strength to carry out.
This subject was one of deep interest to me, and my first care next morning was to visit the patient, and see what the waters, not thePeris, had done for her. I found her sitting in the outer chamber of the bath, looking very tired and exhausted; but, as I approached, her face lighted with smiles, and she actually stretched out her feet and attempted to stand upon them. I could scarcely believe my eyesight or conceal my surprise at this sudden change in her condition. Her friends cried out in chorus, “Spit upon her, and sayMashallah!” while the bath-womenceased not to sound the praises and boast of the power and good-will of thePerisof their establishment who had wrought this wonderful cure, leaving all the time no doubt in my mind that the beneficent spirits were no other than theHammamjisthemselves.
The following is the account the patient gave of what she underwent when left alone in her vapory dungeon:
“At first I felt a suffocating sensation, then by degrees a weakness crept over me, my eyes closed, and I fainted away. I do not know how long I remained in that condition, but on recovering consciousness I felt myself handled by invisible beings, who silently pulled and rubbed my afflicted limbs. My terror at this stage was as great as my helplessness to combat it. I began to tremble and wished to call for help; when on the point of doing so, I suddenly found myself under the reviving influence of a pail of cold water suddenly thrown over me. The shock, together with my terror, was so great that I actually made a supreme effort to stand upon my feet, when, to my awe and astonishment, I discovered that I had the power of doing so; I even took a few steps forwards, but in the darkness I could proceed no further, and, finding my voice, began to call for help with all my might. The gentle bang of the door for a moment made me hope that my friends were within reach; but no! it was only the spirits, who, unwilling to be seen by mortal eyes, were taking their departure. Their exit was followed by the arrival of my friends, who, alarmed by my screams, were rushing to my aid. I was taken out by the advice of the goodHammamji Hanoum(bath mistress), and left to repose in the outer chamber till morning. I have already ordered the sacrifice of the sheep I promised to the spirits, should they relieve me of the infliction that has crippled me so many years, and am willing to submit to the same ordeal twice more, according to the recommendation of theHammamji Hanoum, in order to afford thePeristhe full time needed for the accomplishment of their task.”
Cases of a similar nature have often been the theme of wonder among those who frequented the baths of Broussa, whose efficacious waters used annually, and employed by civilized patients who resort to them from all parts of the Empire, are found salutary enough without the services of thePeris.
Magic plays a great part in Turkish affairs. Christians and Moslems, Greeks and Bulgarians, Turks and Albanians, implicitly believe in the power possessed by evil-minded persons of casting spells upon their enemies or rivals, and extraordinary means are resorted to with a view to removing the baneful influence. Among my Uskup reminiscences, which are none of the most pleasant, I remember one particularly interesting case, which not only illustrates the general belief of an ignorant population in the power of spells, but also presents a fair picture of the way the peasants are treated by their masters. This instance of the rape of a Bulgarian girl by a brigand chief is no isolated case. Such things are the daily occupation of Turks in authority and of Albanian chiefs who have forgotten their national traditions and have condescended to ape Turkish manners.
The heroine of my story was a young Bulgarian girl belonging to the town of Uskup. She was a strong healthy maiden, but not the less beautiful:—a brunette, with bright black eyes full of expression, a small, well-shaped mouth, fine teeth, a forehead rather low, but broad and determined, and a nose in which high spirit and character were strongly marked. Her oval face would have been perfect but for the slight prominence of the cheek-bones. Her jet-black hair fell in a number of braids on her well-shaped shoulders, in fine contrast to the rich embroidery of herSutna. On working days she was seen laboring in the fields with her brothers, where her cheerful voice would enliven the monotonous sound of the spade; while on feast-days she was ever the first to reach the common and lead theHorato the sound of theGaida. Her natural gayety made her welcome everywhere; she was called “The Lark” by her friends, and was the life and soul of every gathering. She had the happy assured look of the girl who loves well and is loved well again.
One feast-day, riding by the common, I reined in my horse, and stopped to admire this pretty creature by the side of her handsome and intelligent-looking lover, gracefully leading the dance. They both looked pleased and happy, as though their earthly Paradise had as yet known no shadow. But the sun that set so brightly on the festivities of the day was darkened on the morrow. The poor girl was going at dawn to the harvest field, with her bright sickle in her hand, when she was waylaid by a band of Albanian ruffians, who suddenly appeared from behind a hedge where they had been concealed, and tried to seize and carry her off. The danger was sudden, but the stout-hearted girl lost neither courage nor presence of mind; holding her sickle, she stood her ground, bravely defended herself and kept her ravishers at bay. The Albanians, who make it a point of honor not to strike a woman, changed their plan, and pointing their guns at her brothers, who stood helpless by her side, shouted, “Yield, Bulka, or both your brothers are dead!” A look of despair flashed for a moment across her face; then folding her arms she declared her readiness to follow her persecutors, saying, “You have power over my person, take it, and do your worst; but what is within here” (pointing to her head and heart) “none shall have save the Great Bogha and my Tashko.”
Mehemet Bey, a brigand chief, was the instigator of the abduction. Assisted by two subordinates, he placed her behind him on his horse and galloped off across the plain of the Vardar to his village. The brothers, dismayed by the misfortune that had so unexpectedly befallen their sister, ran back to the town and gave notice to the venerable bishop, who at once proceeded to the Konak and acquainted the Kaimakam with the details, and demanded that the girl should be reclaimed and given up to him. The salutary custom then practised in cases of both willing and compulsory conversion was that the neophytes should be placed under the keeping of the bishop in theMetropolis, where they were allowed to remain three days, enjoying the benefits of religious advice and the good influence of their friends. This excellent custom, since done away, had the best results. The prevailing custom, which has superseded this, is to send the neophyte to the house of the Kadi or governor of the town, where a very different influence, seldom of a salutary nature, is exerted during three days, when the presumed convert, often yielding to erroneous arguments and false promises, is led before the Court to declare his or her adoption of the Moslem faith. This pressure was brought to bear upon Rayna, our heroine, and she was treated by the Albanian chief and his friends by turns to threats of vengeance and every kind of flattery and glittering promise. But the brave girl was deaf to both, and by the instrumentality of the Kaimakam the captive was finally brought to the Metropolis, where she strongly protested against the calumnious accusations brought against her by her enemies of having tacitly consented to her abduction, and demanded to be led before the Court without delay to make her final declaration.
Her captivity had naturally been a terrible blow to her betrothed, and the joy of her release was sadly darkened by horrible suspicions of the dishonor to which she might have been subjected. The young man accepted all the same his chosen bride, whom he had so narrowly escaped losing, and the wedding-day was fixed.
The bridegroom’s home was so situated, that from the windows of my room I could see into it. The family consisted of an aged Bulgarian woman and her son, a furrier by trade. A week before the ceremony took place, the old lady might be seen working away at the preparations for the coming event. The house was thoroughly cleaned and whitewashed; the copper pots, pans, and dishes, and the china and glass, indispensable decorations of the shelves that adorn the walls of every well-to-do Bulgarian tradesman’s house, were in their turn brought down, made bright and shining, and then returned to their places. All the carpets were then produced, in extraordinary quantity, and of all colors, dimensions, and qualities. These were stretched on mattresses, sofas, on the floors of the rooms and on the veranda. The cellar was next visited, and no small quantity of its fluid contents brought forth. Uskup is the only town in Turkey in which I have noticed a tendency on the part of the female population to indulge in drink; they do not, however, practise this vice in public, nor is an inebriated woman ever seen in the country. Finally the provisions, consisting of an abundant supply of flour, rice, butter, honey, and fruits were collected, and all seemed in readiness. The future bridegroom, however, who appeared ill and dispirited, took no very active part in the arrangements, and I frequently observed him sitting on the veranda silent and dull, smoking cigarette after cigarette; his mother occasionally whisking round and reprimanding him in strong Bulgarian language, to which he would sometimes respond by a few words and at others would heave a deep sigh and leave the house.
I went to see the bride on the day she was brought to her new home. She looked very pretty in her bright bridal costume, but her fine eyes had lost something of their lustre and her cheeks much of their wonted bloom. She looked serious and concerned; her husband, dull and dispirited. As they stood up to make the first formal round of the dance, I noticed the difference in their step, formerly so light, now heavy and sorrowful. As they turned round, slowly measuring their steps to the music of thegaida, not a smile parted their lips, not a cheerful word was heard from the rest of the company. The poor bride noticed this, and a few tears dropped from her eyes; but her cup of sorrow was not yet full. A suspicious-looking woman, famous for her deep knowledge of witchcraft, entered; taking aside the bridegroom, she whispered something in his ear which seemed to impress him deeply. This bird of ill omen left behind her a chill which all seemed to feel. When the week’s feasting was at an end, the gossips began to chat over the event, all agreeing that a duller wedding had never taken place in their town, and prophesying all sorts of misfortunes to the young couple. I frequently saw them from my windows, and noticed that they did indeed seem far from happy. The husband looked morose, was seldom at home, and during those intervals was always in bad humor and disputing with his mother, and quarrelling with his wife, who was oftener crying than laughing.
The gossiping tongues of the neighbors were once more loosed, and the report was spread that the bridegroom was laboring under the influence of a magical spell cast upon him by his disappointed rival, the Albanian chieftain, and that he was consequentlyzaverza. This spell cast upon men is, among other devices, operated by means of the locking of a padlock by a sorcerer, who casts the lock into one well and the key into another. This is supposed actually to lock up every feeling and faculty of the individual against whom it is directed, and to render him insensible to the impressions of love.This spell, implicitly believed in and much feared by all the ignorant people of the country, requires the assistance of a professional to remove its malignant effects. The unhappy couple, after many miserable months, resolved to have recourse to the sorceress before mentioned, and after the husband had undergone the remedies prescribed by her everything went well, and my heroine once again became happy. Such is the force of imagination.
The antidotes employed in these cases consist of quicksilver and other minerals, placed with water in a basin, called theMeras Tas, or Heritage-Bowl, a very rare vessel, highly prized for its virtues, and engraved with forty-one padlocks. The water is poured from this bowl over the head of the afflicted person during the seven weeks following Easter. At Monastir, this ablutionary performance is held in a ruined mill called Egri Deirmen, where every Thursday during this period may be seen a heterogeneous gathering of Turks, Jews, Bulgarians, Wallachians, Albanians, and Greeks, young and old, male and female, who resort to the spot, and for the modest payment of a copper coin receive the benefits of an anti-magical wash. Every one who has been to the place will attest the beneficial effect of this rite, and so deeply rooted is the belief in the influence of magic in the minds of these people that even those who may have wished to free themselves from what they almost admit to be a superstition, say that they are led back by the incontrovertible evidence they see of its effects on the persons against whom it is employed.
Most of the spells cast upon persons are aimed at life, beauty, wealth, and the affections. They are much dreaded, and the events connected with this subject that daily occur are often of a fatal character. A Turkish lady, however high her position, invariably attributes to the influence of magic the neglect she experiences from her husband, or the bestowal of his favor on other wives. Every Hanoum I have known would go down to the laundry regularly and rinse with her own hands her husband’s clothes after the wash, fearing that if any of her slaves performed this duty she would have the power of casting spells to supplant her in her husband’s good graces. Worried and tormented by these fears, she is never allowed the comfort of enjoying in peace that conjugal happiness which mutual confidence alone can give. Abuyu boghcha(or magic bundle) may at any time be cast upon her, cooling her affection for her husband, or turning his love away from her. The blow may come from an envious mother-in-law, a scheming rival, or from the very slaves of whose services the couple stand daily in need. A relative of Sultan Abdul-Medjid assured me that on the death of that gentle and harmless Padishah no fewer than fiftybuyu boghchaswere found hidden in the recesses of his sofa. All these were cast upon the unfortunate sovereign by the beauties who, appreciated for a short time and then superseded by fresh favorites, tried each to perpetuate her dominion over him.
During a conversation I recently had with a Turkish lady of high position, who had spent seventeen years of her life in the seraglio of Sultan Abdul-Aziz, I happened to refer to the eccentricities occasionally displayed by that Sultan. She looked reproachfully at me and exclaimed, “How can you accuse the memory of our saintly master of eccentricity when every one knows it was the effect of magic?” and, adding action to her words, she began to enumerate on the tips of her fingers all the persons who had a special interest in having recourse to this practice in order to bewilder the mind of the Sultan. “The first schemer,” said she, “is the Validé Sultana, desirous of perpetuating her influence over the mind of her son. The next is the Grand Vizir, in the hope of further ingratiating himself with his master. Then comes the Kislar Aga, chief of the eunuchs, with a host of women, all disputing with each other the affection of the Sultan. If ten out of twelve of these fail in their attempt the machinations of two will be sure to succeed, and these two suffice to bewilder the mind of any man. When our lamented master was driven out of his palace, and the furniture removed from his chamber,buyu boghchaswere found even under the mats on the floor. These, taken up by some good women that still venerated his memory, were thrown into the sea or consumed by fire.”
Thebuyu boghchais composed of a number of incongruous objects, such as human bones, hair, charcoal, earth, besides a portion of the intended victim’s garment, etc., tied up in a rag. When it is aimed at the life of a person, it is supposed to represent his heart, and is studded with forty-one needles, intended to act in a direct manner and finally cause his death. Two of these bundles, of a less destructive nature, were thrown into my house; on another occasion two hedgehogs, also considered instruments of magic and forerunners of evil, were cast in. All these dreaded machinations had, however, no other effect on me beyond exciting my curiosity to know their perpetrator; but they occasioned great fear to my native servants, who were continually expecting some fatal calamity to happen in consequence.
The advice of magicians, fortune-tellers, dream-expounders, and quack astrologers is always consulted by persons desirous of being enlightened upon any subject. Stolen property is believed to be recoverable through their instrumentality, and the same faith is placed in them as a European victim of some wrong would put in the intelligence and experience of a clever detective. Some of these individuals are extremely acute in arriving at the right solution of the mystery. Their power, dreaded by the suspected parties as sure to result in some unforeseen calamity, is a moral pressure which, when set to work upon the superstitious, succeeds beyond expectation. The following is an example of the hold that superstition has over the minds of the most enlightened Turks. A Pasha, who had been ambassador at Paris, and whose wit, liberal ideas, and pleasant manners were highly appreciated in European circles, was appointed in his more mature years Governor-General of Broussa during the reign of Abdul-Medjid. During his travels he had collected a splendid library, the finest ornament of his house. These books gave umbrage to an old sheikh, who possessed unlimited influence over the Pasha. The old fanatic had mentally vowed the destruction of these writings of the infidel, and by means of his eloquence and by prophetic promises he so worked upon the governor’s superstitious feelings as to induce him to sacrifice his library, which was brought down into the court-yard and made into a bonfire. The recompense for this act of abnegation, according to the sheikh, was to be the possession of the much-coveted post of Grand Vizir. Strange to say, a short time afterwards the Pasha was called to occupy that position; but its glory and advantages were enjoyed by him for the short period of three days only—a poor recompense for his sacrifice.
Belief in the evil eye is perhaps more deeply rooted in the mind of the Turk than in that of any other nation, though Christians, Jews, and even some Franks regard it as a real misfortune. It is supposed to be cast by some envious or malicious person, and sickness, death, and loss of beauty, affection, and wealth are ascribed to it. Often when paying visits of condolence to Turkish harems, I have heard them attribute the loss they have sustained to theNazar. I knew a beautiful girl, who was entirely blinded and disfigured by small-pox, attribute her misfortune to one of her rivals, who, envying in her the charms she did not herself possess, used to look at her with the peculiarfena guz(bad expression) so much dreaded by Turkish women. When the misfortune happened, the ignorant mother, instead of reproaching herself for her neglect in not having had her daughter vaccinated, lamented her want of foresight in having omitted to supply her with the charms and amulets that would have averted the calamity.
A lady who had lost a beautiful and valuable ring that had attracted the attention of an envious acquaintance, when relating to me the circumstance with great pathos, attributed her loss solely to the evil eye cast upon it by her friend.
I knew a lady at Broussa whose eye was so dreaded as to induce her friends to fumigate their houses after she had paid them a visit. She happened to call upon my mother one evening when we were sitting under a splendid weeping willow-tree in the garden. She looked up and observed that she had never seen a finer tree of its kind. My old nurse standing by heard her observation, and no sooner had our visitor departed than she suggested that some garlic should at once be hung upon it or it would surely come to grief. We all naturally ridiculed the idea, but, as chance would have it, that very night a storm uprooted the willow. After this catastrophe the old woman took to hanging garlic everywhere, and would have ornamented me with it had I not rebelled.
At Uskup the finest horse in the town was my Arab, which was said to excite the admiration and envy of the Albanians, whose love for fine horses is well known. Often after having been out he was pronouncedNazarluby our faithful kavass and the groom, and was at once taken to a sheikh of great repute in the town, who read prayers over it, pulled its ears, and after breaking an egg on its forehead, sent it back with every assurance that it wasSavmash(cured). Finding that my pet was none the worse for this strange treatment (for which I was never allowed to pay by my excellent friend the old sheikh), and seeing that it afforded gratification to my people, I allowed them to take it as often as they liked.
Visiting one day the nursery of a friend, we found the baby, six months old, divested of its clothing and stretched on a square of red cloth, while the old Greek nurse, much concerned about the ailing condition of her charge, which she attributed to the effects of the evil eye, was presiding over the following operation performed by an old hag of the same nation in order to free the infant from the supposed influence. Little heaps of hemp, occupying the four corners of the cloth, were smoking like miniature altars; their fumes, mingling with the breathings and incantations of the old enchantress, offered a strange contrast to the repeated signs of the cross made by her on the baby’s body, ending in a series of gymnastic contortions of its limbs. The child soon recovered his wonted liveliness, and seemed to enjoy the process, crowing and smiling all the time.
Should you happen to fix your gaze on a person or object in the presence of ill-disposed Turks, you are liable to receive rude remarks from them under the idea that you are casting the evil eye. Some months ago two Turkish boys, belonging to one of the principal families of the town of R⸺, attracted the attention of some Christian children who stood by, and who were forthwith violently assaulted by the servants of the little boys, who called out, “You little giaours! how dare you look in this manner at our young masters and give them the evil eye?” The cries of the children brought some shopkeepers to the spot, who with some difficulty rescued them from this unprovoked attack.
The preservatives employed against the power of this evil are as numerous as the means used to dissipate its effects. The principal preventives and antidotes are garlic, cheriot, wild thyme, boar’s tusks, hares’heads, terebinth, alum, blue glass, turquoise, pearls, the bloodstone, carnelian, eggs (principally those of the ostrich), a gland extracted from the neck of the ass, written amulets, and a thousand other objects. The upper classes of the Christians try to avert its effect by sprinkling the afflicted persons with holy water, fumigating them with the burning branches of the palms used on Palm Sunday, and by hanging amulets round their necks: as preservatives, coral, blue glass ornaments, and crosses are worn. The common people of all denominations resort to other means in addition to these. The Bulgarians, for instance, take six grains of salt, place them on each eye of the afflicted person, and then cast them into the fire with a malediction against the person supposed to have caused the evil. They also take three pieces of burning charcoal, place them in a green dish, and making the sign of the cross pour water over them. Part of this liquid is drunk by the victim, who also washes his face and hands in it and then throws the remainder on the ground outside the house.
On the last day of February (old style), they take the heads of forty small fish, and string and hang them up to dry. When a child is found ailing from the supposed effects of the evil eye, the heads are soaked in water, and the horrible liquid given to it to drink. It is considered a good test of the presence of the evil eye to place cloves on burning coals and carry them round the room. Should many of these explode, some malicious person is supposed to have left the mischievous effects of theNazarbehind him.
Blue or gray eyes are more dreaded than dark ones, and red-haired persons are particularly suspected. Great circumspection is observed in expressing approbation, admiration or praise, of anything or anybody, as all Orientals live in a continual state of dread of the effects of thefena guz.
Besides the belief in spirits, magic, and other supernatural powers, public credulity in the East is apt to accept as facts a variety of matters not less absurd and often more injurious. In spring, for instance, a popular idea prevails that blood in some manner or other must be drawn from the body in order to cool the system and render it healthy for the summer. Part of the population will appeal to the barber, part to professed phlebotomists, others to the application of leeches. Superstition requires that vipers should be medicinally used in spring; the gypsies undertake to collect these and sell them alive to the inhabitants of towns. I remember seeing one of these reptile-hunters carry a bagful of them on his back against a sheepskin-coat. A passer-by being attracted by their movements, visible through the bag, took hold of it, but no sooner had he done so than he paid dearly for his curiosity by being severely bitten by one of them. Freshly killed animals, such as frogs, birds, etc., are often applied to suffering members of the body.
Croup is cured by amulets procured from the Hodjas and hung round the neck of the child. Turkish women have often assured me that this remedy is never known to fail, and consequently they resort to no other. Square pieces of paper, bearing written inscriptions, are given for a few piastres by learned Hodjas to persons whose dwellings are infested with vermin. These are nailed on the four walls of an apartment, and are believed to have the power of clearing it of its obnoxious tenants. Going into the room of one of my servants one day at Adrianople, I found a cucumber-boat occupying each corner. On inquiring why they were placed there, an old servant answered that, being inconvenienced by the too plentiful visitation of vermin, she had appealed to a person at Kyik, whose magical influence, conveyed in cucumbers, was stated to be infallible in driving the creatures away. I tried to analyze the contents of these receptacles, but finding them a mess composed of charcoal, bones, bits of written paper, hair, etc., I soon desisted, hoping that it would prove more efficacious than it promised.
The Bulgarian remedy for this pest, although simpler in form, can hardly be more effective. It consists of a few of these insects being caught on the 1st of March, inclosed in a reed, and taken to the butcher, their credentials being couched in the following terms: “Here is flesh, here is blood for you to deal with; take them away and give us something better in exchange.”
Another means of getting rid of serpents, venomous insects, and vermin, is made use of by the Bulgarians on the last day of February; it consists in beating copper pans all over the houses, calling out at the same time, “Out with you, serpents, scorpions, fleas, bugs, and flies!” A pan held by a pair of tongs is put outside in the court-yard.
Mohammedans execrate the Christian faith, and Christians the Mohammedan faith, but both in cases of incurable diseases have recourse reciprocally to each other’s Ἁγιάσματα (holy wells), the sacred tombs of the saints, and to the prayers of the clergy of both creeds. I have often seen sick Turkish children taken to the Armenian church at Broussa, and heard prayers read over them by Armenian priests. I have also seen Christian children taken to Hodjas to be blown and spat upon, or have the visitation of intermittent fever tied up by means of a piece of cotton-thread twisted round the wrist.
I happened one day to be making some purchases from a Jew pedler at the gate, when a Turkish woman passing by came quietly up to the old man, and before he could prevent her, made a snatch at his beard and pulled out a handful. The unfortunate Hebrew, smarting under the pain and insult, asked the reason for her cruelty. “Oh,” she answered, “I did not intend to insult or hurt you; but my daughter has had fever for a long time, and as all remedies that I have tried have proved vain, I was assured that some hairs snatched from the beard of an Israelite and used to fumigate her with would be sure to cure her.” She then tied up her stolen treasure in her handkerchief and walked away with it.
Dreams play a great part in Eastern life. The young girl, early taught to believe in them, hopes to perceive in these transient visions a glimpse of the realities that are awaiting her; the married woman seeks, in their shadowy illusions, the promise of the continuation of the poetry of life, and firmly believes in the coming realities they are supposed to foreshadow; while the ambitious man tries to expound them in favor of his hopes and prospects, often guiding his actions by some indistinct suggestion they convey to his mind. When a Greek woman has had a remarkable dream, she will consult her Ὄνειρο, or book of dreams, the Bulgarian will gossip over it with her neighbors, often accepting their interpretation, and the Turkish woman will do the same, but if not satisfied with the explanations given, she has the alternative of consulting the Hodja, who will find a better meaning in his “learned books.”
A projected contract of marriage is often arrested by the unfavorable interpretation of a dream, or a marriage that had not previously been imagined is entered into under the same influence. The vocations of a man may be changed by a dream, and the destinies of a family trusted to its guidance. Dreams are often used as a medium of discovering truth, and are efficacious instruments in the hands of those who know how to use them. A Turkish servant was suspected by one of my friends of having stolen a sum of money which she missed from her safe. The lady called in the woman and said to her, “Nasibeh, I dreamed last night that while I was out the other day you walked into my room and took the money that was there.” The culprit, taken by surprise, exclaimed, with too much earnestness, “I did not take it!” My friend responded, “I have not accused you of having taken it, but since you deny it so earnestly you are open to suspicion. If the money is not there you must have taken it.” After a little pressure the woman confessed that, tempted by theSheytan, she had done so, but that she would give it back, promising to be honest for the future. She was retained in her situation, and, be it said to her credit, was never again found guilty.
The most trivial circumstances connected with the birth of a child are considered of good or bad omen according to the interpretation given to them. Trifling accidents happening on a wedding-day have also their signification; so have the breaking of a looking-glass, the accidental spilling of oil, sweeping the house after the master has left it to go on a journey, the meeting of a funeral or of a priest, a hare crossing the path, and a thousand other every-day occurrences. The Turks, after cutting their nails, will never throw away the parings, but carefully keep them in cracks of the walls or the boards, where they are not likely to be scattered about. This is based on the idea that at the resurrection day they will be needed for the formation of new ones.
Sultan Mahmoud, the grandfather of the present Sultan, was in his bath when the news of the birth of his son Abdul-Aziz was announced to him. The tidings are said to have made him look sad and thoughtful; he heaved a deep sigh, and expressed his regret at having been informed of the event when divested of his clothing, saying it was a bad omen, and his son was likely to leave his people as naked as the news of his birth had found his father. Unfortunately for the nation, this prediction was but too exactly realized.
Predictions have great influence over the Mohammedan mind. On the eve of great battles, or on the occasion of any great political change, prophecies are consulted and astrologers appealed to, to prognosticate the issue of the coming event. Many of these individuals have paid with their heads for the non-fulfilment of their prophecies.
The last prediction in circulation at Stamboul, uttered since the death of Sultan Abdul-Aziz, says that seven sultans must succeed each other, most of them dying violent deaths, before the Empire will be secure.
While living at a farm near Broussa, situated a few miles from the town, not far from the ruins of a fine old hostelry called the “Bloody Khan,” my mother was one moonlight night accosted by an old Turk while we were out walking. He was a stranger in the place, tall and handsome, with a snowy beard falling upon his slightly bent chest. A peculiar, restless look about the eyes, and the numerous scars that covered his bare breast and face were evident indications that whatever his present calling might be, his past life must have been a stormy and adventurous one. He walked quietly towards us, and stopping before my mother, with a certain amount of respect mingled with paternal familiarity, said to her, “Kuzim, gel!(Daughter, come!) I have a secret to reveal to you.” My mother followed him, and half amused and wholly incredulous listened to the following recital. Pointing to the “Bloody Khan,” which, being situated upon the principal road leading into the interior, had once been occupied by a band of forty robbers, he said, “I was the chief of the band of brigands that occupied that Khan. You must know its story. Forty years have passed during which my faithful followers have been caught, killed, or dispersed, leaving me the sole representative of the band. A timely repentance of my evil ways led me to make aTubévow and renounce the old trade. I have since lived in peace with Allah and with men. I have sworn to lay violent hands on no man’s property more; but myconscience does not rebel against attempting to recover what I had buried beneath yonder wall. I want your powerful concurrence to dig out this buried treasure, the greater part of which will be yours.” My mother naturally refused to have anything to do with the affair. Seeing her unwillingness, the old man tried all his powers of persuasion to induce her to take part in his plan, saying, “On me, my daughter, be the sin. I will rest content with a small portion of what will be recovered, all the rest I abandon to you!” Finding this last inducement had no more effect than his previous promises, he turned away, saying, “Since you refuse I must seek somebody else.” Among the few Mohammedan inhabitants of the small village his choice fell upon theImam, whose enterprising face promised the old man better success. The cunning Imam, on hearing the brigand’s tale, being persuaded of its veracity, at once promised his assistance, mentally deciding, however, that he would be the only one to profit by the hidden treasure. He at once began to make use of the usual stratagem of superstition, which could alone secure the success of his plan. Telling the old man that according to his books ill-gained wealth must be in the possession of evil spirits, and that in order to guard themselves against their influences during their digging enterprise, and to prevent the treasure from turning into charcoal, a peculiar process of appeasing and soothing incantations would be needed; but that he would at once proceed to perform these, and at the first crowing of the cock all would be ready, and they would proceed together to the spot and unearth the treasure. The credulous old chief stroked his beard, and said that with Allah’s help and the good-will of thePerisby the next day they would be rich men. In the course of the night, as arranged, the two, spade in hand, leading the Imam’s horse bearing saddle bags, proceeded to the spot. The Imam commenced operations by surrounding himself and his companion with as many magical observances as he could invent. Telling him to remove the first spadeful of earth, they went on digging alternately until a hollow sound told the sharp ear of the Imam that the distance between them and the coveted wealth was not great. He threw down his spade, and again resorting to magical mummeries declared that the danger was imminent, as the spell foretold resistance on the part of the spirits, and a refusal to yield possession unless a goat were at once sacrificed to them. “Go,” said he, earnestly, “back to the mosque, and in the small chamber you will find three goats; take the milk-white one and bring it here. Do not hurry it much, but lead it gently, as becomes the virtue of the offering.” The old man, nothing doubting, with Turkish nonchalance went quietly back to the village, which lay about three miles distant. The Imam once rid of him, and when in no danger of being seen or heard, set actively to work, got out the treasure, placed it in his saddle-bags, mounted, and rode off, and was never seen or heard of in the village again. The old man returned in due time, accompanied by the goat, to find nothing but his spades, the pile of earth, and the gaping hole. Disgusted, disappointed, and enraged, he came back to the village, and early next morning made his appearance at the farm. Inquiring for my mother, he acquainted her with the pitiable results of his attempt. This time the curiosity of the whole family was roused, and we all proceeded in a body to the spot. The old man’s assertions proved to be perfectly correct, and my brother, upsetting part of the upturned earth, discovered a handsome silver dish and cup, which we took home with us as trophies of the strange adventure.
The following strange incident happened at Broussa when I was a child. Incredible as it may appear, its authenticity cannot be disputed, and a statement of the fact may be found in the Consular Reports made at the time to the Foreign Office:
The monotonous life of the inhabitants of this romantic old city, which a Frenchimprovisateurjustly designated asun tombeau couvert de roses, was one morning startled by the arrival of a band of fifty or sixty wild-looking people—men, women, and a few children. None knew whence they came or what they wanted. Some of them, dressed as Fakirs, spoke bad Turkish; the rest used a guttural dialect unintelligible to any but themselves. Their costume, composed of a sheet or wrapper, left their arms, legs, and tattooed breasts bare; white turbans, from under which a quantity of matted hair hung, covered the heads of the men. The women, whose arms and breasts were bare, wore brass and bead ornaments, large rings in their ears, and a sheet over their heads. They were fine, strongly-built people, with regular features and bronzed skins. This nomad band, which was conjectured to have come from some distant part of Central Asia, took up its quarters at Bournabashi, a beautiful spot outside the walls of the town, where a grove of cypress trees shelter a fine mausoleum containing the saintly remains of one of the first chieftains who accompanied Sultan Orkhan and settled in the city after the conquest. His shrine, much venerated by the Mohammedans, is a resort for pilgrims, who may often be seen performing their ablutions at the cool fountains by the side of the vale, or devoutly bending to say theirnamazunder the shade of the imposing trees, having lighted tapers on the tomb.
It must have been some mysterious legend connected with the life and deeds of this reputed saint, mixed up, as most Oriental legends are, with the supernatural, that, finding its way back to his native land, and discovered or expounded centuries later by his savage kindred, led them to undertake this long journey and do homage at the tomb of the Emir. Their actions seem, however, to have been prompted partly by interested motives, for their legend seems mysteriously to have stated that great riches had been buried with him, whose possession was only attainable by human sacrifice. The easy consciences of the fanatics do not appear to have felt any scruples with regard to the means they were to use, and in their zeal, stimulated by their greed for gain and by superstition, they undertook the long journey that, after perhaps months of hardship and toil, led them to their goal.
The day after their arrival they were seen in twos and threes scouring the town, crossing and recrossing all its streets under the pretext of begging, but, as subsequently discovered, with the real object of kidnapping children. According to their confession, forty was the number needed, whose fat boiled down was to be moulded into tapers, which, burning day and night on the tomb of the Emir, were to soften the spirits into complaisance and induce them to give up the treasure they guarded in its original state, and not in charcoal, as would be the case if this all-important part of the operation were omitted by the searchers. The news of the appearance of the kidnappers, with some inkling of their object, soon spread through the town and began to terrorize the inhabitants of the Christian quarters, where they were principally seen loitering, when palpable evidence of their operations was brought before the English Consul by the timely rescue of two Armenian children, who had been half strangled, one being brought in insensible and the other having on its throat the deep and bleeding nail-marks of the two ruffians from whose hands the children had been rescued by some passers-by, who interrupted the murderous work as it was being executed in the sombre archway of a ruined old Roman bridge crossing the ravine that intersects the town. The Consul at once proceeded to the Governor and requested that the case should at once be looked into. But the sacred character of Fakir protecting some of these men made public investigation difficult, and the authorities hushed up the matter, and only signified to the band that they must renounce their project and leave the country. They did so, expressing their deep regret at the want of faith of the authorities, and bitterly reproaching them with their refusal to co-operate tacitly with their desire.