A CITY OF DISGUISES
We knocked softly at the door of the house that was to be our home, and
then waited, flattened in the shadow below it, quite prepared for the
worst. It was then four o'clock in the morning. It seemed too much to
hope that we would be welcome.
But we were. The door opened cautiously about one inch, and two little
faces were seen, low down the crack. Behind them, someone held a light.
Then the door was flung wide, and we saw on the stairs a whole family of
friendly people, male and female, old and young, all in night dress, and
all with arms outstretched in rapturous greeting. We might have been
Prodigal Sons returning, instead of two strangers whose presence would
be a source of continual danger.
Hyppolite and Athene, the twins, aged eight, who had first peeped at us,
now took us each by the hand, and led us upstairs.
"The last escaped prisoner we had here was a forger," said Hyppolite to
us.
"He was a friend of father's," added Athene over her shoulder, "and he
escaped from prison about six weeks ago. He was afraid that the police
would find his tools, so he threw them all into our cistern. They are
there now."
We reached the top floor, and were shown by the twins into an apartment
containing a double bed with a stuffy canopy of damask.
"This is the family bedroom," they said.
"And where are we to sleep?" I asked.
"Here," said Themistocle, the proud owner of the house. "My sister and I
and the twins were using the bed until your arrival, but now we will
sleep in the passage."
"The passage?" I echoed. "Haven't you any other beds, and were you all
four using this one?"
"Yes, yes. The other rooms are full of lodgers. There are three officers
of the Turkish army here at present. But they won't disturb you, because
they are hiding too."
"Mon Dieu!" said I, sitting on the bed--"but your sister can't sleep in
the passage, can she?"
"Certainly, she's quite used to that sort of thing. It's safer also, in
case the police come."
"I know all the police," said Athene, "even when they are not in
uniform; I can recognise them by their boots."
"And we are always on the look-out for them," added Hyppolite. "If the
police come to search the house you will have to get into the cistern."
"Where the forger threw his tools," explained Athene.
Coffee and cigarettes were produced, and ointment for our lacerated
hands. We were made to feel quite at home. . . . The family stayed and
talked to us until dawn broke. They thoroughly appreciated the story of
the escape, and clapped their hands with glee at the idea of the Turks'
amazement when they discovered that we had vanished, leaving no trace
behind us.
"They will never find the rope," said Themistocle, "because the
shopkeeper over whose shop it is will certainly cut it down and hide it,
for fear of being asked questions."
"And now we must thank the Blessed Saints for your escape," said an old
lady who had not previously spoken.
She went to a glass cupboard, opened it, and lit two candles. A scent of
rose-leaves and incense came from the shrine, which contained oranges
and ikons and Easter eggs and a large family Bible.
For a moment or two we all stood silent.
Then----
Just when I was expecting a prayer, the old lady blew out the candles
and shut up the cupboard and crossed herself. The thanksgiving was over,
and we dispersed with very cordial good-nights. I think Themistocle
wanted to kiss us, but we felt we had been through trials enough for the
time and refused to offer even one cheek.
The family retired to the passage and settled down to rest with squeaks
and giggles, while Robin and I, after thanking God for all His mercies,
with very humble and grateful hearts, threw ourselves down on the bed,
too exhausted to undress, and slept the sleep of free men.
Next instant, it seemed to me, although in reality two hours had
elapsed, we were awakened by the twins, who looked on us as their
especial charges, and thought us tremendous fun.
"Time to get up," they said excitedly. "The house might be searched at
any minute."
Instantly we were afoot.
"Where are the police?" I asked.
"There is a detective standing at the corner of our street," said
Hyppolite.
"And they often come to see if all our lodgers are registered!" added
his sister.
We bundled our maps, compasses, and other belongings into a towel, and
staggered downstairs, with fear and sleep battling for mastery in our
minds.
But in the pantry, we found the seniors of the household quite
unconcerned. There was no imminent danger of a search. . . . On the
other hand, there was the immediate prospect of breakfast.
A saucepan was actually being buttered (and butter was worth its weight
in gold) to make us an omelette. By now we had been thoroughly stirred
from sleep, and realised how hungry we were. I forget how many omelettes
we ate, or how much butter we used, but I think that that charming
breakfast cost a five-pound note, or thereabouts.
When it was over, an engaging sense of drowsiness began to creep over me
again, but the twins were adamant.
"You must practise getting into the cistern," said Hyppolite.
"Like the forger did," chimed in Athene--"and then you must arrange a
hiding-place for your things."
The worst of it was, that their suggestions were so practical. Obviously
it was our duty to at once take all precautions.
I consequently took off my clothes, and removing the lid of the cistern,
I was let down through a hole in the floor into the waters below. In my
descent I re-opened the wounds in my hands, and it was in no very
cheerful mood that I found myself in darkness, with water up to my
shoulders. I moved cautiously about, trying to imagine our feelings if
fate drove us to this chilly and conventional hiding-place while
detectives were conducting a search for us above. Then I barked my foot
on something hard, and stooping down through the water I picked up a
large block of pumicestone, which was doubtless the forger's engraving
die. Something scurried on an unseen ledge; a rat no doubt. I felt I had
seen enough of the cistern. Groping my way back to the lid, my fingers
touched a little thing that cracked under them, and instantly I felt a
stinging pain. Whether it was a beetle or a sleepy wasp I did not stop
to inquire.
"Lemme get out," I bleated through the hole in the floor. . . . "Robin,"
I said, when I was safe once more, "if ever we are driven down there, we
must take something to counteract the evil spirits."
* * * * *
All that morning we passed in the pantry, eating and dozing by snatches.
Morning merged into afternoon, the afternoon lengthened into evening,
and no policeman came. We were safe.
At nightfall, after sending Hyppolite as a scout up the stairs to see
that the other lodgers were not about, we ascended to our room again,
and settled down definitely.
Our stay, we then thought, might last several weeks, so as to give us
leisure to weigh the reliability of the various routes and guides that
offered. There was no particular hurry. The longer we stayed, the more
likely the Turks would be to relax such measures as they had taken for
our recapture.
But we had reckoned without our host: the host of vermin. They were
worse in this room than in any other place I have seen in Turkey, not
excepting the lowest dungeons of the military prison, where they breed
by the billion. Their voracity and vehemence made a prolonged stay
impossible. Except for the first sleep of two hours, when exhaustion had
made us insensible, we never thereafter had more than a single hour of
uninterrupted rest.
Throughout the long and stifling nights of our stay, Robin and I lay in
the stately double bed, wondering wearily how any man or woman alive
could tolerate the creatures that crawled over its mahogany-posts and
swarmed over its flowered damask. Every three-quarters of an hour, one
or other of us used to light a candle, and add to the holocaust of
creatures we had already slain.
"What hunting?" I used to ask sleepily.
"A couple of brace this time, and a cub I chopped in covert," Robin
would say.
"That makes twenty-two couple up to date--and the time is 12.35 a.m."
Then at one o'clock it was Robin's turn to ask what sport I had had.
"A sounder broke away under your pillow," I reported. "Six rideable boar
and six squeakers."
Ugh!
Those first days of our liberty were a trying time. To the external
irritation of insects were added the mental anxieties of our situation.
What, for instance, would happen to the twins if we were caught in that
house? And, again, was Themistocle faithful? Would he be tempted by the
reward offered for our recapture? At times we were not quite certain. He
used to talk very gloomily about the risks and the cost of life.
"Everyone is starving," he used to say thoughtfully--"even the
policemen go hungry for bribes. A friend of mine, a policeman, said to
me the other day: 'For the love of Allah find somebody for me to arrest.
Among all the guilty and the innocent in this town, surely you can find
somebody that we could threaten to arrest? Then we would share the
proceeds.'"
"What did you say to that?" I asked.
"I said," he answered thoughtfully, "that I would do my best."
"But what sort of man would you arrest?" I asked.
"Any sort of man. A drunkard perhaps, if I saw one, or a rich man, if I
dared."
"Rich men are apt to be dangerous," said I meaningly.
"I know. But what can one do?" he asked, spreading out his hands. "One
must live!"
"And let live," said I, thinking suddenly of the bugs, and wondering
what Themistocle thought of them.
It was then that I noticed his method of combating the household pets.
Previously I had observed that the ends of his pyjamas (we always talked
at night) were provided with strong tapes, which were tied close to his
ankles; but the object of this fastening only became apparent when I
noticed the excited throngs of insects on his elastic-sided boots. They
could not get higher. They were balked of their blood. If he ever felt
any discomfort, he merely tightened the tapes.
After a careful study of Themistocle's psychology (which was so full of
outlooks new to me that I never achieved more than a glimpse into the
pages of his past) I came to the conclusion that he was implicitly to be
trusted. In his frail frame there burned a spirit of adventure and a
courage that might "step from star to star." His soul had been born to
live in a great man, only somehow it had made a mistake and taken a
tenement instead of a manor-house to live in. . . .
I think sunset and sunrise were the pleasantest hours in our new abode.
It was possible then to draw back the blinds without any danger of being
seen, and enjoy the cool of the evening and the magnificent view which
our situation afforded. Our house, although it stood in a side street,
commanded a prospect of the upper end of the Golden Horn, as well as a
view of one of the most populous thoroughfares of the town.
We used to sit and gaze at the twilit city, until the creeping darkness
overtook us.
If circulation be a test of a city's vitality, then Constantinople was
certainly at a low ebb. The pedestrians seemed to get nowhere. They were
hanging about, waiting for something to happen. The whole town was
dead-tired, unspeakably bored of life as it had to be lived under the
Young Turks. Constantinople was getting cross. . . . Cross, like someone
who was tired of adulation from the wrong person. Some trick of sea and
sun give her this human quality of sex. Anyone who has lived for long
in her houses must feel her personality. She is the courtesan of
conquerors, but inherent in her is some witchcraft, by which she weakens
those who hold her, so that they die and are utterly exterminated, while
she remains with her fadeless and fatal beauty, an Eastern Lorelei
beside the Bosphorus. . . . She sapped the strength of the Roman Empire,
she overthrew the dominion of the Greeks, and now, after a period of
fretful wedlock, she was shaking herself free from the Turk.
Something was going to happen soon. One felt it in the air.
What happened to us, was that it became necessary to draw the blinds and
light our candle, and search for the pestilence that crept by night.
Presently our meal arrived, which was always a cheerful interlude, but
it was as short as it was sweet, for courses were few, with famine
prices prevailing. Afterwards we continued our hunting till dawn.
At dawn, when the chill of morning had sent our sated enemies to sleep,
there was another truce from trouble. We used to draw back the blinds
again and sit at the window.
I used to watch the pale sun on the horizon, fighting the mist-forms
that clung heavily to earth and sea, and I felt that in the
world-consciousness a similar contest swayed. The old ideas of
government were being caught by a light that was pale now, but soon to
grow luminous--a radiance that would dispel the night of war, and show
us a new world, intangible yet, but dimly sensed.
In the dim alleys and side streets below, where balconies overhung,
shutting out the dawn, what a weight of woe there was! Famine and fire,
twin angels of destruction that lurked in every by-way of the city, were
waiting to take their toll. And the war went on for caged and free,
while some starved and others made fortunes, and some became generals
and others corpses. And the end of these things was vanity. _Vanitas
vanitatum._
The minaret of a mosque was directly opposite to me. Under sway of the
sanctuary and the hour, the voice of the _muezzin_ spoke to me in all
its sincerity and unity of purpose. God was everywhere, all-pervasive,
all-unseen, invisible only because He was so manifest. Evil of the night
and glory of the dawn made His picture, the world. With new eyes I saw
now this city grey with sin, and fresh with the promise of another day.
From the house of that stern and simple faith that is the creed of
one-fifth of the world, there came a sense of kinship with all the
suffering under the sky. Reverence came to me also, and that brotherhood
which is the message of the Great Teachers since time began. These
thoughts were round me, a silent company, as I looked Mecca-wards, to
the place of prayer. Then the heralds of the dawn alighted on the
minaret, and their wings were amethyst and saffron. The night was over,
and the _muezzin's_ long, exultant call to worship died down with the
increasing light.
Another day had begun.
* * * * *
Not many days and nights did we tarry in Themistocle's house. Robin
decided to try his luck by land. After various inquiries, he made
arrangements with a Greek boy to board a melon-boat bound for Rodosto.
His idea was to make that port, and thence work his way to Enos, where
he hoped to be picked up by our patrol-boats. After many adventures and
perils by land and sea, and a great deal of bad luck, he was caught at
the town of Malgara. So ended a very gallant attempt, which ought to be
set down in detail by him.
I can only describe his appearance when he left. His disguise was a
matter of great difficulty, for he is so tall and so Saxon that he
always attracted notice in an Eastern crowd. An Arab ragamuffin seemed
the role best suited to him, and he accordingly exchanged his
comparatively respectable clothes for a greasy old coat and a pair of
repellent trousers. With a tattered fez well back on his head, and all
his visible skin blackened with burnt cork, he looked an unspeakable
scoundrel. But he was too villainous. He would have been immediately
arrested for his appearance alone. A touch of genius, however, completed
his make-up. . . . In his hands he carried a poor little bowl of curds
and half a cucumber, which completely altered his ferocious air by
adding the requisite touch of pathos. The edible emblems of innocence he
carried transformed him completely into a sort of male Miss Muffet.
No detective could have found heart to inquire where he was going. He
was enough to make anyone cry.
He left in a frightful hurry, for his boat was due to catch a certain
tide, but we drank a stirrup cup to his success, and parted with much
sadness on my side, not until the old lady before mentioned had lit a
candle before the ikon of Saint Nicholas. . . .
I was very sorry to see him go, but I was quite convinced (wrongly, as
events proved) that the best chance of success lay in going to Russia.
The little Colonel of the Russian Guards had told us before we escaped
that he was likely to be soon repatriated (for he was a person of
influence in the Caucasus), and I felt sure that I could arrange to go
as his servant, if no better scheme presented itself in the meanwhile.
But there were many possibilities in the "city of disguises."
During my stay with Themistocle I had been learning history, as it is
never written, but as it is most strangely lived by a people on the
brink of dissolution and disaster. As an escaped prisoner I thought that
delay in Constantinople--somewhere clean, however--would not be time
wasted if one was in touch with the politics of the time. If the
Russian scheme failed, there were other openings, by earth and air and
water.
But the first thing to do was to find a place where I could lay my head
without getting it bitten.
* * * * *
The good angel of prisoners came to my assistance at this critical
juncture in my affairs.
"You must be disguised as a girl," said she--"I will buy you a wig at
once."
"But what about my figure?" I asked, "and my feet . . .?"
"Some clothes were left with me at the beginning of the war," she
answered, "which will fit you with the help of a tailor. And as to your
shoes, your own will pass muster, with new bows. No one has had any
proper shoes for ages here. But you will want--well, lots of other
things."
And I certainly _did_ want a lot, before I looked at all presentable.
After very careful shaving, I began to splash about confidently at my
toilet table. There was Vesuvian black for the eyebrows, _bistre_ for
the eyelashes, _poudre violette_, rouge, carmine--more powder--more
rouge--at last I showed my satisfied face to Miss Whitaker, who gave a
cry of horror, and flatly refused to be seen in my company.
There was nothing for it but to wash my face and start again.
This time I succeeded in making myself presentable, although a blue
streak of whisker seemed always slightly visible through the powder. The
wig, however, helped matters greatly, and I arranged some ringlets on my
shaven cheeks.
The dressing-up was quite exciting. Silk and lace and whalebone,
especially a lot of lace in front, was the basis on which I built. The
foundations took some time in laying, but when finished I found to my
delight that the coat and skirt belonging to Miss Whitaker's friend
fitted my figure perfectly.
A few details, invisible to my eyes, were quickly corrected, and I think
that when I finally emerged, with large hat at a becoming angle, I did
credit to my instructress.
Gloves I had always to wear, of course, and a veil was advisable,
chiefly to tone down my blinding beauty to the eyes of passers-by. Do
what I would, however, I could not hide a certain artificiality in my
appearance, which was most unfair to Miss Whitaker, considering that I
was her companion. But I behaved as well as I possibly could.
[Illustration: The Author as a German Governess]
I learned how to walk in a ladylike fashion, and how to powder my nose
in an engaging manner. My arms and legs had to be kept under various
restraints. A mincing gait was soon acquired, but I found sitting still
more awkward. My knees evinced an almost ineradicable tendency to cross
themselves or sprawl, while my gloved forearms, to the last, felt as
unwieldy as a baboon's. But everything I could I learned assiduously
and in dead earnest, down to managing my veil, and patting my curls
nicely in front of a looking-glass. It was so frightfully important not
to make a false step.
My only excuse for going about with Miss Whitaker at all was the
complete success of the role for which she had so skilfully prepared me.
Never for a moment was there any suspicion of my identity.
On one occasion, in the early days of my disguise, when we were
sight-seeing at Eyoub, some Turkish ladies stopped to talk to us. I
remained silent, of course, but I watched them narrowly and came to the
conclusion that they saw nothing amiss. My eyes, incidentally, were as
well painted as theirs. Now, if two charming and worldly-wise _hanoums_
cannot detect a flaw in one's form or features, it is unlikely that any
mere male could be cleverer than they.
The mere males, alas! were enthralled by my appearance. Once or twice an
embarrassing situation was narrowly averted. The road behind the Pera
Palace Hotel is dark, and we used to ascend it in fear and trembling.
But although we were followed sometimes, no one ever presumed to speak
to us.
Miss Whitaker had found me by now a delightful roof, near the house in
which I took my meals, and this place was free from all life smaller
than a rat. Here I was able to make my plans in peace, with no fear of
treachery, for, so cleverly had Miss Whitaker arranged matters, no one
knew I was not a woman.
As Mademoiselle Josephine, an eccentric German governess, who suffered
from consumption (and therefore spoke very low and huskily) I used to
pass my nights _a belle etoile_, after well-spent days in the docks or
cafes, where my plans were maturing. The stars in their courses seemed
to be on my side. No longer, as when a fretful prisoner, did I think
their quiet shining was a reminder of man's minuteness in the schemes of
God. I felt now that man could make his destiny. And when that destiny
was shaped by hands such as those that helped me, the world was a
beautiful place. Good angels were here on earth, at "our own
clay-shuttered doors." . . .
Two little girls, to whom I used to bring chocolates, used to come up in
the evening and kiss my hand, wishing me good-night. They thought I was
the most amusing governess they had ever met. Their mother, a kind old
lady who offered me cough mixtures, must have thought me rather odd, but
then she was prepared to make allowances for foreigners, especially in
war-time. To have a reason for wishing to be inconspicuous was nothing
unusual in those days, whether one was German, Jew, or Greek, or male or
female.
Of various opportunities that came my way, the most practical and
attractive was that suggested by the Russian Colonel. His repatriation
to the Caucasus was now only a matter of days. He had not only got his
own passport, but also a passport for a servant. That servant was to be
myself. In order to discuss plans, we found the safest rendezvous was
the open-air cafe of the Petits Champs. This place was crowded with
"fashionable" people, and although both he and Miss Whitaker were
constantly shadowed by detectives there was nothing at all suspicious in
their being seen at tea-time in the company of an elegantly dressed
German lady.
The German lady was obviously not as young as she tried to appear, but
then there was nothing unusual about that. She was also rather _gauche_
in her movements, but this again was not out of keeping with the part.
"In a fortnight's time we will be having tea at Tiflis," the Russian
Colonel used to say. "I will raise two regiments of cavalry and take
them to kill the Bolsheviks. You shall be my adjutant."
"With the greatest pleasure in the world, _mon Colonel_. But please do
not speak so loud."
"Ah, that _sacre_ detective. I had forgotten him. Soon we will not have
to think of such things."
"Yes, but at the present moment your own particular shadow is trying to
listen to what you are saying," I remarked in low tones.
At once the Colonel's voice assumed a softer note, and his green eyes
began to melt with tenderness.
"_Mais Josephine, ma petite, ecoutes donc, je t'adore. . . ._ There,
he's passed. Everything is ready. I have got you a Russian soldier's
uniform. You have only to put this on, and follow me on board when I
go."
"And if someone asks me who I am?"
"You are my Georgian servant. And you can only speak Georgian. Just say
this----"
There followed a tongue-twisting sentence, which I tried to memorise.
Meanwhile the band played, and people passed, and inquisitive eyes were
turned in our direction.
"That's a spy who knows me," Miss Whitaker would say. "_Encore une
tasse, mademoiselle? Non?_ I think we ought to be going."
"We'll settle the final details to-morrow," I whispered.
"Right! Remember to let your beard grow. I couldn't have a smooth-faced
orderly."
"_Eh bien, mille mercis, Colonel_," said I, giving him my hand.
He held it a moment, bowing, and looking inexpressible things.
"_Ah, Josephine. . . ._"
"_A demain, alors!_"
And with a simper I left my gallant and dapper cavalier to pay the
bill.