[Illustration: Girl of the Harem.]
CONSTANTINOPLE.
BY
EDMONDO DE AMICIS,
AUTHOR OF “HOLLAND,” “SPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS,” ETC.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FIFTEENTH ITALIAN EDITION BY
MARIA HORNOR LANSDALE.
ILLUSTRATED.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1896.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
TURKISH WOMEN 7
YANGHEN VAHR 71
THE WALLS 101
THE OLD SERAGLIO 141
THE LAST DAYS 213
THE TURKS 247
THE BOSPHORUS 269
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOLUME II.
Photogravures by W. H. GILBO.
PAGE
GIRL OF THE HAREM _Frontispiece._
TURKISH LADY 11
LEMONADE-SELLER 19
AN OUTING OF THE WOMEN OF THE HAREM 21
DANCING GIRLS 45
TURKISH FIREMEN 79
WATER-SELLER 85
AQUEDUCT OF VALENS 96
MOSQUE OF THE CHORA 110
DERVISH 120
INTERIOR VIEW OF THE SEVEN TOWERS 127
VIEW OF INTERIOR OF THE SEVEN TOWERS 133
PANORAMA OF THE SERAGLIO 147
A TURKISH WOMAN 184
GATEWAY OF THE IMPERIAL PALACE AT THE SWEET WATERS OF ASIA 194
PANORAMA OF MOSQUE OF BAYEZID 218
ANCIENT FOUNTAIN AT SKUTARI 223
CEMETERY OF EYÛB AND VIEW OF THE GOLDEN HORN 229
TÜRBEH OF THE MOSQUE SHAZADEH 235
TOMBS OF MAHMÛD II. AND OF HIS SON ABDUL-AZIZ 237
COFFEE-MAKERS 245
BOSPHORUS: VIEW OF SHORES OF ASIA AND EUROPE 271
MOSQUE OF VALIDÊH AT OK SERAI 275
SWEET WATERS OF EUROPE 280
ENTRANCE TO THE BLACK SEA 293
TURKISH WOMEN.
On arriving in Constantinople for the first time, one is much
surprised, after all he has heard of the thraldom of the Turkish women,
to see them, everywhere and at all hours of the day, coming and going
with apparently the same freedom as the women of any other city in
Europe. It seems as though all these imprisoned swallows must that
very day have been given their liberty, and a new era of freedom and
independence dawned for the fair sex among the Mussulmans. At first
the impression is very odd: one is in doubt whether all these females
enveloped in white veils and long, variously-colored mantles are nuns
or masqueraders or lunatics; and, as you never by any chance see one of
them accompanied by a man, they seem not to belong to any one, being
all, apparently, young girls or widows or inmates of some huge asylum
for the “unhappily married.” It is some time before you can realize
that all these Turkish men and women, who meet and jostle one another
in the streets without ever walking along together or interchanging
so much as a nod or look, can have anything in common, and you
constantly find yourself stopping to watch them and reflect upon this
singular custom. And these strange figures, you say to yourself--these
actually are those “subduers of hearts,” “fountains of peace,”
“little rose-leaves,” “early grapes,” “morning rays,” “life-givers”,
“sunrises”, and “shining moons” about whom thousands of poets have
written and sung? These are the “hanums” and mysterious slaves, reading
of whom in Victor Hugo’s ballads at the age of twenty, in a shady
garden, we imagined to be like beings of another world? These the
unfortunate beauties, hidden behind gratings, watched over by eunuchs,
separated from the world, who, passing like shadows across the face of
the earth, emit one cry of pleasure and one of sorrow? Let us see how
much truth lies at the bottom of all this poetry.
* * * * *
First of all, then, the face of the Turkish woman is no longer
a mystery, and owing to this fact alone much of the poetry that
surrounded her has disappeared. That jealous veil which, according to
the Koran, was to be at once the “seal of her virtue and a safeguard
against the world,” has become a mere form. Every one knows how the
_yashmac_ is arranged. There are two large white veils--one, bound
around the head like a bandage, covers the forehead down to the
eyebrows, is knotted just above the nape of the neck, and falls over
the back in two long ends reaching to the waist; the other covers
all the lower part of the face and is carried back and tied in with the
first in such a manner as to give the effect of a single veil. These
veils, however, which are supposed to be of muslin and adjusted so as
to leave nothing visible but the eyes and the upper part of the cheeks,
have worn away to something very thin and flimsy indeed, while they
have drawn farther and farther apart, until now not only most of the
face, but the ears, neck, and hair, and not infrequently a European
hat and feathers worn by “reformed ladies,” are plainly visible. Hence
the reverse of the former order of things has come about. Then it was
the older women who were allowed to appear with their faces somewhat
less closely covered, while the young ones were obliged to conceal
them rigorously. Now the young ones, especially if they be handsome,
show as much of their features as possible, while the older women, in
order to deceive people, wear their veils thick and closely drawn. And
so an infinite number of charming and romantic incidents told by poets
and writers of fiction are no longer possible, and among other fables
is that of the husband seeing his bride’s face for the first time on
the night of his marriage. Beyond the face, however, all is still
concealed, and not so much as a passing glimpse can be had of waist or
bosom or arm: the _ferege_ hides everything. This is a sort of tunic
furnished with a cape and very long sleeves, full and shapeless, and
falling like a cloak from the shoulders to the feet. In winter it is
made of cloth, in summer of silk, all of one color, and that usually
brilliant--now bright red, now orange, now green; but, whatever may
be the change in color from year to year, the cut is never altered.
Notwithstanding the fact that the women are enveloped in this manner,
so great is the art with which they can adjust the _yashmac_ that the
pretty ones pass for beauties, and those who are ugly look pleasing.
It is difficult to say just what it is they do with those two veils.
How artfully they dispose of their ample folds, drawing them back and
allowing them to fall in simple classic lines or arranging them like
coronets or turbans! With what subtle grace they employ them to at once
display and conceal their charms, offering a tantalizing suggestion, a
promise, a check, and revealing unlooked-for marvels! Some of them seem
to wear about their heads a white diaphanous cloud, which at a breath
would melt away, others to be garlanded with lilies and jasmines: all
of them apparently have the whitest skin, and seem to borrow from those
veils a shining reflection and an appearance of delicacy and freshness
quite captivating to behold. It is a headgear at once austere and
festive, with something of a sacerdotal or nun-like character. Beneath
it, one would think, nothing but kind thoughts and innocent, child-like
fancies could have birth. But it appears that a little of everything is
born there.
[Illustration: Turkish Lady.]
It is not altogether easy to define the beauty of the Turkish women. In
thinking of them, I may say I always see a very white face, two black
eyes, a crimson mouth, and a sweet expression. But then they almost
all of them paint, whiten their skin with almond and jasmine paste,
lengthen their eyebrows with India ink, color their eyelids, powder
their necks, draw dark circles around their eyes, and put patches on
their cheeks; but in all this they employ taste and discretion, unlike
the belles of Fez, who use whitewash brushes to beautify themselves
with. Most of them have pretty oval contours, noses a little arched,
lips somewhat thick, round, dimpled chins--many of them have dimples
in their cheeks as well--handsome necks, long and flexible, and tiny
little hands, generally covered--more’s the pity!--by the sleeves
of their mantles. They are usually plump, and many of them above
the medium height. One rarely sees the dumpy or scrawny type of our
countries. One universal defect they have--their manner of walking;
they shuffle and stumble along like big children who have grown too
fast: this, it is said, comes from a weakness of limb resulting from
the abuse of the bath, and also, in a measure, from the wretched
shoes they wear. Elegant-looking women, whose feet must be very small
indeed, may sometimes be seen wearing men’s slippers or long, wide,
wrinkled shoes, such as a European peasant-woman would scorn. But
even that ungainly walk has something child-like about it that, once
you are accustomed to it, appeals to you. There are none of those
stiff-looking individuals, like the figures in fashion-plates, whom we
see in our cities going along with little mincing steps like pieces
on a chess-board. They have not yet lost the free, careless gait
natural to the Oriental, and when they do, although they may gain in
dignity, they will be less attractive. Occasionally one sees a face
of great beauty, and not always the same type either, since there
is Circassian, Persian, and Arabian blood mingled with the Turkish.
There is the matron of thirty, whose ample form the _ferajeh_ cannot
entirely conceal, very tall, with great dark eyes, protruding lips,
and delicate nostrils, the kind of _hanum_ who makes a hundred slaves
tremble at her glance, and the mere sight of whom turns into ridicule
the boast made by Turkish gentlemen that they are four times the
husband. Then there are others, chubby little ladies with everything
round about them--face, eyes, nose, mouth--and such a guileless,
childish, kindly air of entire and sweet resignation to their lot,
which is that of never being anything more than a plaything and
source of recreation, that you feel tempted to slip a sugar-plum into
their mouths in passing. And there are the slender, graceful figures
of sixteen-year-old brides, vivacious and passionate, whose bright
coquettish eyes arouse a sentiment of pity in one’s breast for the
poor effendi who has undertaken the care of them, and the unfortunate
eunuch whose duty it is to mount guard over them.
The city is wonderfully adapted to form a background and framework for
the beauty of the women and the picturesque style of their dress. You
should see, for instance, one of those graceful figures, with its white
veil and crimson _ferajeh_, seated in a käik on the surface of the
blue Bosphorus, or extended on the grass surrounded by the vivid green
of some cemetery, or, better still, coming toward you down one of the
steep lonely side-streets of Stambul, closed in at the end by a great
plane tree, when the wind is blowing and veil and _ferajeh_ flutter
about and reveal neck and foot and ankle. I can assure you that if the
indulgent decree of Suleiman the Magnificent were in force at such a
moment, levying a fine upon every kiss given to the wife or daughter of
another, even the avarice of a Harpagon would receive a severe shock.
And even when the wind is high the Turkish women do not feel called
upon to struggle very hard to keep down the _ferajeh_, their modesty
not including their ankles, and sometimes stopping quite short of them.
It is at first somewhat astounding to see how they look at you,
laughing too in a manner which certainly encourages the taking of
liberties. It not infrequently happens that a young European, looking
attentively at a Turkish lady even of rank, finds his gaze smilingly
returned, sometimes by an actual laugh, or, again, a pretty _hanum_
driving by in her carriage waves a graceful salute behind the eunuch’s
back to some good-looking Frank who has struck her fancy. Occasionally
in a cemetery or some retired street a lively young woman goes the
length of tossing a flower as she goes by or dropping it on the ground,
with the manifest intention of having it picked up by the young
gentleman who is walking behind her. Hence it follows that a fatuous
traveller is sometimes betrayed into making grave mistakes, and more
than one fool of a European is quite saddened at the close of his
month’s visit to Constantinople at the thought of the hundred or so
unfortunates whose peace of mind he has destroyed for ever. No doubt
there is in some of these carryings on a frank avowal of preference,
but they are chiefly dictated by a spirit of rebellion nursed in the
heart of Turkish women and born of their hatred of the subjection in
which they are kept. This they give vent to at every opportunity, and
these little mischievous acts of secret spite toward their masters are
more the result of childishness than coquetry. What coquetry they have
is of a most singular kind, a good deal like the first experiments of
young girls when they begin to find people looking at them. It consists
of a great deal of laughing, gazing up with the mouth open as though
very much astonished, pretending that they have hurt their head or
foot, certain gestures of impatience with the _ferajeh_, which is in
their way, and various other school-girl tricks, which certainly seem
to be done more to make one laugh than with any view of fascinating.
They never pose as if for a photograph or the drawing-room; what little
art of that kind they possess is of the most rudimentary kind. It is
plain to be seen that they have not, as, Tommaseo would say, many
veils to lift, that they are unaccustomed to long courtships--to being
“surrounded by the pack” like Giusti’s hieroglyphical women; and when
they take a fancy to any one, instead of wasting time in sighs and
languishing glances, they would like to say quite frankly, “Christian,
I like you.” Being unable to say the actual words, they make their
meaning clear with equal frankness by displaying two shining rows of
pearls or laughing outright in your face. They are just pretty tamed
Tartars.
[Illustration: Lemonade Seller.]
And, after all, Turkish women are free--a discovery which the foreigner
makes as soon as he lands. It is an exaggeration for Lady Mary Wortley
Montague to say that they have more liberty than European women, but
any one who has been to Constantinople cannot help but laugh when he
hears people talk of their “bondage.” When a lady wishes to go out
she tells the eunuch to order her carriage, and goes without asking
any one’s permission, and stays as long as she wants to, provided,
of course, she returns before nightfall. Formerly she was always
accompanied by a eunuch or female slave or friend. The bolder spirits,
when they wanted no one else, would at least take a child with them as
a sort of passport to public respect. One of them appearing entirely
alone in some retired spot would quite probably have found herself
stopped by a city guard or a straight-laced old Turk, and subjected to
a severe cross-examination: “Where are you going? Where have you been?
Why is there no one with you? Is it thus that you respect your effendi?
Go home at once.” But now-a-days all this has changed, and hundreds of
Turkish women may be seen at all hours of the day quite alone in the
Mussulman streets and suburbs, and in the Frankish cities as well. They
pay each other visits from one end of Stambul to the other, spend half
a day in the bath-houses, make excursions by water to the Sweet Waters
of Europe on Thursday, and on Sunday to the Sweet Waters of Asia. On
Friday they visit the cemeteries of Skutari, on the other days of
the week the Isles of the Princes, Terapia, Buyukdereh, or Kalender,
to eat luncheon in parties of eight or ten with their slaves. They
say their prayers at the tombs of the pâdishahs and sultanas, visit
the dervishes’ monasteries, and go to see the public exhibitions of
wedding-outfits. And not a man would presume to join or follow one of
them, or even so much as to accost her. For a Turk to be seen in some
retired street in Constantinople, not arm-in-arm or walking beside,
but merely pausing an instant to exchange half a dozen words with
one of the “veiled,” would be considered most unseemly, even were it
written on their foreheads that they were man and wife; or, to speak
more correctly, it would be looked upon as an audacious piece of
impudence, as though two individuals should select the centre of one
of our crowded streets in which to make mutual declarations of love.
In this sense, then, Turkish women really have more freedom than ours,
and no one knows how highly they value it or how eagerly they grasp at
the noise and crowd and open air and light of the streets and public
resorts. In their own houses they see but one single man, while their
windows and gardens are like those in convents; so it is perfectly
natural to find them running about the city with all the enjoyment of
liberated prisoners. It is great fun to follow one of them--at a safe
distance--and see how she has mastered the art of chopping the joys of
vagrancy into the smallest possible pieces. First she will drop into
the nearest mosque to say her prayers and loiter under the arches of
the courtyard for a quarter of an hour or so, chatting with a friend;
next she will go to the bazâr, glance into half a dozen shops, turn one
or two upside down, and finally, after purchasing some trifle, take
the tramway down to the fish-market, cross the bridge, and examine
at her leisure every wig and headdress in every hair-dresser’s shop
in the Rue de Pera; next we find her in a cemetery, where, after
settling herself comfortably on one of the tombs, she will sit for
some time munching sweetmeats; then back to the city and down to the
Golden Horn again, making numberless détours to right and left, and
watching everything out of the corner of her eye--shop-windows, signs,
posters, the other ladies who pass her, carriages, the open doors of
theatres, advertisements; then she will buy a bunch of flowers, give a
trifle to some beggar, drink a glass of lemonade from a water-carrier,
and, recrossing the Golden Horn, in a käik this time, make some fresh
excursions about Stambul; after which she will again take the tramway,
alighting at her own door. But even on the threshold she is fully
capable of turning back merely for the purpose of walking a little
way up the street and making the circuit of a half-dozen houses or
so before being shut in for the night, just as some young girl who
has been allowed to go out for once alone tries to crowd a little of
everything into that one short hour of liberty. A poor fat effendi who
should undertake to follow and watch his wife to see if she were up
to any mischief would certainly have a hard time of it: he would very
probably find himself distanced at the end of the first half hour.
* * * * *
To really get a good view of the Mussulman fair sex, you must go to
the Sweet Waters of Europe, at the head of the Golden Horn, on
one of the great feast-days, or to those of Asia, near the village of
Anadoli-Hissar. These are two extensive public gardens, watered by
two little rivers, and thickly sprinkled with trees, fountains, and
cafés. There, on a vast grassy plain, beneath the shade of walnuts,
terebinths, palm trees, and sycamores, forming a succession of
leafy pavilions, through which not so much as a ray of sunshine can
penetrate, may be seen thousands of women seated in circular groups
surrounded by their slaves, eunuchs, and children, lunching and passing
away half a day in each other’s company, while all around them crowds
are coming and going. On arriving you are at once captivated by this
scene, which resembles a festival in the Islam Paradise. The myriads of
white veils and scarlet, green, yellow, and gray _ferajehs_; the groups
of slaves dressed in every hue of the rainbow; the crowds of children
in their fanciful costumes; the great Smyrna rugs spread on the grass;
the gold and silver vessels passed from hand to hand; the Mussulman
waiters from the cafés in gala dress running hither and thither
carrying plates of fruit and ices; the gypsies dancing; the Bulgarian
shepherds playing on their pipes; the horses with silk and gilded
trappings stamping beneath the trees to which they are tied; the pashas
and beys and young gallants who gallop along the river’s bank; the
swaying of the distant crowd like the movement of the wind over a bed
of tulips and hyacinths; the gayly-painted käiks and elegant carriages
which every moment deposit fresh loads of color in that sparkling sea;
and the mingled melody of flute and pipe and tambourine, of voices
singing and children calling to one another; the play of light and
shade across the grass and thick foliage of the trees and shrubs, with
here and there a little glimpse of some distant view,--all combine to
form an effect of light and color, sound and movement, so perfect that
one’s first impulse is to clap his hands enthusiastically and cry,
“Bravo! bravissimi!” as though it were a masterly production on the
stage.
[Illustration: An Outing of the Women of the Harem.]
Even in such a scene as this, notwithstanding the opportunities
afforded by the crowd and confusion, it is extremely rare to find
Turkish men and women making eyes at one another or exchanging so
much as a smile or glance of intelligence. Gallantry, _coram populo_,
does not exist there as it is seen in our countries; there are none
of those melancholy sentinels who march up and down beneath the loved
one’s windows, or those devoted followers who will walk for three hours
behind the beloved object. Their love-making is carried on entirely
within doors. If by chance you should happen to come upon a young
Turk in the act of gazing up at a grated window behind which may be
detected the flash of an eye or a white hand, you may take it for
almost certain that they are a pair of fiancés. To engaged couples
alone are meetings and rendezvous permitted and all the other childish
accompaniments of authorized courtship, such as conversing together at
a distance by means of a flower or ribbon or by the color of the dress
or scarf. In this art the Turkish women are very proficient. There are
a thousand small objects, such as flowers, fruits, grass, feathers,
stones, to each one of which some especial meaning is attached, an
epithet or verb, or even a whole sentence, so that an entire letter may
be expressed in a single bunch of flowers, and any number of things
be said with a little box or purse full of odds and ends apparently
collected by merest chance; and, as the signification of the various
objects is usually expressed in verse, every lover is in a position
to compose an amorous couplet, or even a polymetrical poem, in five
minutes. A few cloves, a scrap of paper, a slice of pear, a bit of
soap, a match, an end of gold thread, a grain of cinnamon and one of
pepper, signify, “I have long loved you. I pant, languish, die with
love for you. Give me a little hope; do not repulse me. Answer me with
a word.” And not only love-affairs, but thousands of other matters,
can be expressed with equal facility--reproof, counsel, warning,
news. Young girls just beginning to be conscious that they have
hearts find endless occupation and amusement in committing all this
symbolic language to memory, and in composing long letters addressed
to imaginary sultans of twenty. Then there is the language of signs
or gestures, some of which are extremely graceful, such, for example,
as that of the man who, wishing to imply that he has been wounded by
the force of his love, stabs himself in the heart with an invisible
dagger, to which the woman responds by letting her arms fall at her
sides in such a way that the _ferajeh_ opens a little in front, which
means, “I open my arms to you.” No European, however, has probably ever
witnessed the actual interchange of these signs, which have now almost
passed into traditions, and are only to be learned, moreover, from some
ingenuous _hanum_ who has confided them to a Christian friend. Were
you to interrogate a Turk in regard to them, you would cover him with
confusion.
* * * * *
We learn through the same channels what the dress of the Turkish women
is in the seclusion of the harem--the details of that charming costume,
at once rich and fantastic, which every one has some idea of, and
which lends to every woman who wears it the dignity of a princess and
freedom and grace of a child. We will never see it unless the fashion
should be adopted in our own country, for even should the _ferajeh_
be some day discarded, every Turkish woman will by that time be found
dressed like a European underneath. What anguish for the artists, and
what a pity for all concerned! Just fancy a Turkish beauty, “slender as
a cypress,” with the coloring “of all the blended tints of a rose’s
petals,” wearing a little red-velvet or silver-brocade cap slightly
on one side, her black hair falling down over the shoulders, clad in
a garment of white-silk damask embroidered in gold, with wide, open
sleeves, and a long skirt parted in front so as to show the full
trousers of rose-colored silk falling in close folds over little
feet encased in tiny pointed slippers turned up in Chinese fashion;
a sash of green satin around the waist, and diamonds flashing from
neck and arms and hair, the tassel of the cap, slippers, girdle,
forehead, so that she glitters from head to foot like the Madonna in a
Spanish cathedral as she lies extended on a wide divan in an attitude
of childish grace, surrounded by a circle of pretty Circassian,
Arabian, or Persian slaves, enveloped like statues of antiquity in
long, sweeping garments; or imagine a bride, “white as the summit of
Olympus,” arrayed in sky-blue satin with a large gold-embroidered
veil falling over her entire person, seated upon a pearl-embroidered
ottoman; or picture to yourself the adored favorite in the most retired
apartment of the harem, wearing the jacket and trousers which set off
to the utmost advantage the exquisite contours of her person, making
her look like a graceful, well-formed boy. Then you can realize what
those beasts of “reforming” Turks, with their bald heads and black
coats, have to answer for. These house-costumes, however, vary with
the changing fashions. The Turkish women, having nothing else in the
world to occupy them, devote a large part of their time to trying to
devise some new style of dress: they cover themselves with finery and
trinkets, stick feathers and ribbons in their hair, tie scarfs around
their heads and fur around their necks and arms, borrowing something
from all the different styles of Oriental costume; they combine the
fashions of Europe and the East, wear wigs, dye their hair black, red,
yellow, indulge every sort of fancy, and vie with one another every
whit as much as the leaders of fashion in other lands. If at one of the
gatherings at the Sweet Waters a fairy should suddenly wave her wand
and all the _ferajehs_ fall off, no doubt we would find some of the
ladies attired like Asiatic queens, others like French Christians or in
full ball-costume or in the gala dress of tradespeople, riding habits,
Greek costumes, gypsy dresses, or like vivandières--just as great a
variety, in short, as may be seen among the men on the bridge of the
Validêh Sultan.
* * * * *
The apartments occupied by beautiful and wealthy Mohammedan ladies
correspond, to a certain extent, with their fanciful and captivating
style of dress. The rooms reserved for the women are usually well
situated, commanding charming views of sea or country or else
overlooking a wide expanse of the city. Beneath the windows are gardens
enclosed between high walls covered with ivy and jasmine, overlooked
by terraces; over the street extend small rooms built out from the
walls and enclosed with glass, like the _miradores_ of Spanish houses.
The interiors are simply enchanting. Almost all the rooms are small,
the floors covered with Chinese matting and rugs; screens painted
with flowers and fruits stand about; a wide divan runs all around the
wall, and in the centre of the room a fountain plays; vases of flowers
stand in the windows, and over all falls that soft, subdued light so
characteristic of the Oriental house, like the dim light of the forest
or--what shall I say?--the cloister or some sacred spot, so that one is
inclined to walk on tiptoe and speak in whispers, saying nothing but
what is humble and tender, talking only of God and love. This soft,
mysterious light, the perfumes wafted in from the gardens, the murmur
of the fountains, the figures of the slaves flitting back and forth
like phantoms, the stillness which broods over everything, the distant
blue of the Asiatic mountains seen between the bars of the windows with
their leafy screen of honeysuckle, awaken in the breast of a European,
who finds herself for the first time within those mysterious walls, an
inexpressible sensation of languor and of melancholy.
The decoration of most of these harems is simple in the extreme,
almost severe, but there are those which are very magnificent, having
walls hung with satin and gold damask, screens of cedar-wood, gilded
gratings, and costly furniture, from whose character it is easy enough
to judge what sort of life is led by the inmates. You find only
arm-chairs, big and little ottomans, rugs, stools, low seats, cushions
of every possible size and shape, and mattresses covered with shawls
and brocades; everything is soft, yielding, inviting, saying in a
thousand different ways, “Rest, take your ease: love, sleep, dream.”
Here and there are hand-mirrors and large fans of ostrich feathers;
chased chibuks hang on the walls and bird-cages in the windows;
braziers for burning perfumes stand in the middle of the rooms,
and musical boxes, bric-à-brac, and ornaments in every direction;
sufficiently indicating the tastes of an idle and weary woman. Nor does
this luxury exist only on the surface: in some establishments all the
table service is of gold--of solid gold the vessels for perfumed water,
of gold the fringe of the satin napkins--while brilliants and precious
stones glitter from the various utensils, the coffee-cups, goblets,
pipes, table-linen, and fans. In others--and these by far the greater
number of houses, it must be understood--little if any change has
been made from the ancient order of things in the tent or hut of the
Tartar, whose entire outfit could be packed upon the back of a single
mule, and everything stood in perpetual readiness for a fresh migration
across Asia. These houses are distinctively Mohammedan and severe in
character, where, when the hour of departure sounds, nothing is heard
but the resigned voice of the master pronouncing the word “Olsun!” (So
be it).
* * * * *
The Turkish dwelling, as every one knows, is divided into two parts,
the _harem_ and the _selamlik_. The _selamlik_ is the part reserved
for the man. Here he works, eats, sees his friends, takes his siesta,
and sometimes sleeps at night. The wife never enters it, but, just as
the man rules in the _selamlik_, so does she govern in the harem. She
orders and arranges everything just as she chooses, and does whatever
she wants to, except that of course she cannot receive male visitors.
If she does not feel like seeing her husband, she can even refuse to do
that, sending a polite message requesting him to return at some other
time. Although the _selamlik_ is, as a rule, only separated from the
_harem_ by one small door and a narrow corridor, they are, in reality,
like two distinct houses, far away from one another. The male friends
of the effendi who come to see him, and the ladies who call upon the
hanum, neither encounter nor hear each other, and frequently are
mutually unknown. In the same way, the two establishments are supplied
with different servants and very commonly separate kitchens. Husband
and wife seek their amusements in their own way, spending their time
and their money without reference to each other, and rarely even dine
together, having almost nothing in common. It is very unusual for the
man to enter the harem in the character of husband or companion or
as the guide and educator of his children; his visits are those of
the lover: on crossing that threshold, he puts away all his cares and
worries, giving himself up entirely to the soft distractions of the
moment: his object is to be amused and diverted, and it would never
occur to him to look there for the light and guidance of a mind more
clear and serene than his own, or for even a sympathetic interest in
his affairs; and, indeed, the women of Turkey would be found to be but
poorly adapted to satisfy such demands were they made. The husband,
moreover, is at no pains to surround himself with that halo of wisdom
or strength or intelligence which might be calculated to increase his
importance in his wife’s eyes. What would be the use? He is already
the god of the temple, claiming worship and adoration as a right.
There is no need for him to make himself more attractive. The honor
which, of his bounty, he pays his wife in going to see her at all
itself calls for a sentiment of gratitude sufficiently like love to
satisfy him. The word “woman” has for him absolutely no association
with the mind or with any of his outside interests and occupations.
She belongs exclusively to his private life, and on this account he
dislikes to so much as hear the word pronounced in public. If he has
to announce the birth of a daughter, he will say, “‘A veiled one’ or
‘a hidden one’ or ‘a little stranger’ has been born to me.” And so
it is that any real intimacy between husband and wife is out of the
question: all those depths and secret recesses of the soul which can
only be discovered by the light of entire mutual confidence must, from
the nature of things, remain for ever hidden; their intercourse lacks
the necessary quality of an assured footing. The wife, never knowing
at what hour she may receive a visit from her husband, is constantly
decked out in expectation of that event: intent upon outdoing a rival
or preserving a pre-eminence which is continually threatened, she is
always something of a courtier, doing violence to her own feelings in
order that everything may look smiling and cheerful for her lord, and
often enough, when her heart is heavy within her, assuming the gay
and laughing mien of a happy, contented woman in order to prevent his
growing weary of and neglecting her. And so it happens that the Turk
never really knows woman as a wife, just as he has never known her as
a mother, sister, or friend, and never will as a daughter, while she,
finding that her nobler qualities are neither used nor prized, allows
them to become blunted and warped, valuing only those for which she is
sought, and often resolutely checking the natural and finer dictates
of her own heart in order to find, if not happiness, at least peace,
in the apathy of a purely animal existence. She has, it is true, the
comfort of her children, and very often her husband sends for them to
pet and caress them in her presence; but whatever satisfaction this
might have given her is marred by the knowledge that within the hour
he may well have done the same to the children of another wife, and
an hour later be embracing those of a third, and--who knows?--within
a year of still a fourth. Lover-like devotion, parental affection,
friendship, confidence, all, are divided and subdivided, each portion
having its own hours, regulations, and boundaries. Hence his visit is
cold and formal, while through and beneath it all there is a bitter
humiliation, a deadly insult, in the love of a husband who pays a
eunuch to mount guard over his wife. He says to her, in substance, “I
love you, ‘my joy,’ ‘glory,’ ‘pearl of my house,’ but I am quite sure
that you cannot be trusted.”
* * * * *
The conditions of married life, however, vary very greatly according to
the worldly possessions of the husband, even apart from the fact that a
man who can only support one woman can, of course, have but one wife.
The rich man lives apart from his wife in body as well as in spirit;
he is able to afford a separate suite of apartments or even a house
for her, and does so in order that he may carry on his occupations and
receive his friends and acquaintances without running any risk of the
ladies of his household being seen or interfered with. The Turk of
moderate means is forced, from motives of economy, to live on terms of
much greater familiarity with his wife, and, dwelling under the same
roof, sees her much more frequently. The poor Turk is obliged to occupy
the smallest possible space, and so eats, sleeps, and passes all his
leisure time in the company of his wife and children. Wealth divides,
while poverty unites. The life led in the houses of the poor differs
very little whether the inmates be Turks or Christians. The woman who
cannot keep a slave does the work herself, and labor increases her
dignity and authority. Not infrequently she may even be found routing
her lazy husband out of the neighboring café or tavern and driving him
home with blows from her slipper. Here, at least, husband and wife are
on an equality: they spend their evenings together, seated side by side
in the doorway of their house, and in the more retired suburbs even go
together, sometimes, to make the family purchases. Not infrequently
you may see in an out-of-the-way cemetery a father and mother, with
their children gathered around them, seated near the grave of some
relative, eating their luncheon, just like a laboring family in any
other part of the world; and from the mere fact that it is uncommon,
one finds himself strangely moved by this simple scene. You realize,
as you watch them, how natural, how essential, and eternally and
universally fitting is that junction of soul and body; that in that
group, so complete in itself, there is no room for any one else; that
a single additional note and the harmony would be spoiled or destroyed
outright; that, talk and argue as you may, the fact remains that the
first condition, the elementary force, the cornerstone of an orderly
and well-balanced society, is there before you; that every and any
other combination of affections and interests violates a natural law;
that this is a family, the other a herd; that this, and this only,
corresponds to a home, the other to a wolf’s den.
* * * * *
There are those who maintain that the women of the East are not only
satisfied with polygamy, but that they do not so much as understand
its injustice. To believe this one would have to be ignorant, I do
not say of Oriental life, but of the human heart itself. And how is
it, if this be so, that almost every Turkish girl, when she agrees to
marry, makes it a condition that during her lifetime there shall be no
other wife, or that large numbers of wives return to their own homes
on account of the husband’s failure to keep this promise? and what is
the meaning of the Turkish proverb, “A house with four wives, a vessel
in a storm”? And even supposing her husband worships her, an Oriental
woman can hardly fail to curse polygamy, obliging her, as it does, to
live with that sword of Damocles suspended over her head--the daily
dread of a rival, not hidden and distant and always in the wrong, as
the rival of a European wife must necessarily be, but installed beside
her in the same house, with the same name, and entitled to equal rights
with herself. She is liable at any time to have one of her own slaves
suddenly lift her head in her presence, treat her as an equal, and
have children whose rights are the same as those of her own. It is
quite impossible that she should be blind to the injustice of such a
state of things; and when the husband whom she loves introduces another
wife into his house, it may well happen that, reflecting upon the
fact that he is but taking advantage of the code of the Prophet, and
knowing full well at the bottom of her heart that an older and more
sacred law has denounced that act as an infamous abuse of power, she
rebels against and curses the conditions which have taken her husband
from her, cut the knot which bound them together, and destroyed the
happiness of her life. On the other hand, suppose she does not love
him: she still has good cause to detest a law which so seriously
interferes with the rights of her children, wounds her self-respect,
and permits her husband to either neglect her altogether or seek her
society solely from motives in which affection plays no part. It may be
urged that Turkish women know that such misfortunes as these sometimes
overtake European women as well: perhaps they do, but they also know
that the latter are not obliged by the law, both civil and religious,
to treat with respect and give the title of sister to the women who
have poisoned their lives, and have, moreover, the comfort of being
looked upon as martyrs, as well as a hundred ways of vindicating and
consoling themselves without the husband being once able to say, as
the polygamist can to his rebellious wife, “I have a right to love a
hundred women, while it is your duty to love no one but me.”
* * * * *
The Turkish woman has, however, many rights and privileges under
the law to console her. She is treated on all hands with a certain
chivalric tenderness. No man would dare to raise a hand against her in
public. Not a soldier, even in the midst of the general license and
disorder of a riot, would attempt to maltreat even the most insolent
woman of the people. The husband observes toward his wife a sort of
formal deference, and the mother is always the object of especial
veneration. Nor would a man dream of making his wife work in order that
she might support him. It is the husband who settles the dot upon his
wife; she is expected to bring him nothing but her wedding outfit and
some female slaves. In cases of repudiation or divorce he is obliged to
provide for her maintenance, and this is also the case when he treats
her badly and she demands a separation in consequence. The facility of
divorce remedies, to some small extent, the unfortunate consequences
of marriages made almost always in the dark on account of the peculiar
conditions of Turkish society, which oblige the two sexes to live
entirely apart. It requires very little to enable a woman to obtain a
divorce: it is only necessary to show that her husband has ill-treated
her once, or spoken of her in conversation with others in offensive
terms, or neglected her for a certain length of time. When she has a
complaint to make, she has only to lay her grievance before the court
in writing, or she may, if she choose, present it in person before a
vizier--the grand vizier himself, if she wishes to--he being almost
always ready to receive and listen to her kindly and patiently. If she
cannot get on with his other wives, she may require her husband to
provide her with a separate establishment, to which, indeed, she has a
right in any case, or at least to separate apartments. The husband is
forbidden to take either as wife or odalisque any slave whom his wife
has brought from her father’s house. A woman who has been betrayed and
abandoned can require the man to marry her unless he already has four
wives: in that case she can oblige him to support her in his house and
recognize her children. There are no illegitimate children in Turkey.
Bachelors and old maids are very rare, and forced marriages far less
common than one would suppose, as the guilty fathers are liable
to punishment under the law. The state pensions all widows without
relatives or means, and also provides support for orphans; often female
children who have been abandoned are taken from the street by women of
wealth, who educate and marry them off, and it is unusual for women to
be reduced to absolute want. Now, all of this is not only true, but
very admirable, but at the same time one cannot refrain from laughing
outright when the Turks solemnly compare the social privileges enjoyed
by their women with those of European countries, to the advantage
of the former, or try to persuade us that they are blessed with an
immunity from the corruption which, they declare, exists among us.
What possible value in the eyes of a woman is an outward show of
respect, when her very position as a suppliant wife is in itself a
humiliation? Of what avail the facility of divorce and right it gives
her to remarry, when the second husband can at any time repeat the
offence for which she left the first? What great matter is it for a man
to be required to recognize his illegitimate son, when he has not the
means to support him, and can have fifty others “legitimately,” who,
if they are spared the opprobious epithet of “bastard,” are not spared
from want and neglect? The social evils which exist in European lands
are to be found in Turkey under different conditions and names, and
the fact that they are tolerated, and even sanctioned, certainly does
not extenuate them, while it may and does make them more common. For a
Turk to attempt to criticise any one else in this regard is to the last
degree blind and fatuous.
* * * * *