FROM BILIDJIK TO BROUSSA BY YAILI—AFTER THE DAY’S ROUGHENING EXPERIENCES
ONE CAN SLEEP WHATEVER THE ACCOMMODATION.
OUR adieux to Bilidjik did not delay us long. As there were no trains to
Constantinople, we had to take the road to Broussa and Moudania, whence
the boat runs to Constantinople. I now joined the American in one
carriage, the two Turkish boys following in a second. Although _yaili_
means “a carriage with springs,” neither of ours justified their name,
for they had none. An American, however, is nothing if not resourceful,
and my companion performed wonders with straw, rugs, and boxes.
It was about nine o’clock when we started along the muddy roadway, in
charge of one of the most happy-go-lucky coachmen it has ever been my
good fortune to employ. He had ten animals of his own before the war,
and, now the Greeks have taken them all, he is making a fresh start with
the best he can hire from others. He _said_ that these were steady and
sound, but I could not believe we should have known the difference, over
these ploughed fields on the edge of the mountains, so caked with mud
that our carriages frequently stuck fast. It was a wearisome business
enough, the constant alighting to be dug out for fresh starts; but I was
altogether beyond sharing the American’s alarm lest we should sink for
ever in a bog! I was far more concerned about the difficulty of getting
really comfortable, among my disordered rugs and shawls.
As our coachman provides us with many evidences of Greek barbarity from
the ruins of every village we pass, my companion’s indignation shows
rapid signs of approach to fever heat. “We’ve not played ‘straight,’” he
cried, “I am not pro-Greek nor pro-Turk, and, at the moment, I haven’t
much use for Christians; but I don’t see myself keeping quiet about all
this. You and I have to get quick and publish a little truth for a
change.”
I told him that I had been trying in vain to get something done, or at
least known, about Angora; but that if ever an article of mine included
a word about Greek atrocities, the editorial scissors promptly got busy,
and the truth remained untold.
Obviously the American belonged to that fine type, which abounds in
young countries, who put all their dollars into the acquisition of
knowledge, and who delight in using the knowledge they have acquired,
backed by their own wealth, in the service of mankind. His keen
inquiries about _my_ impressions of the sad people he had come so far to
understand, were proof enough that no kind of vanity, or pursuit of
self-glorification, lay behind his insatiable curiosity.
I was much interested to find that he agreed with me in having noticed
how strongly the “personal” element enters into all one’s relations with
any Turk. If they do not like one, you might as well stay in England. If
your personality attracts them, it will make no difference where you
happen to have been born.
“They are called ignorant and fanatical; but I find that even the most
illiterate understand enough of our civilisation to make any honest
Englishwoman heartily ashamed of our ignorance and insularity.”
“Remember,” he said, “how little we Americans really know of you, or you
of us.”
“I _do_ remember how I shocked one of your compatriots by confessing
that I had the most shaky idea of the occasion for your ‘Thanksgiving,’
but he afterwards admitted he had imagined till quite recently, that
‘Boxing Day’ was the annual event of our national sport!”
There was little to break the monotony of our lonely journey except a
large number of caravans, and, every now and again, one of those tiny
little donkeys, used to lead a troop of from nine to fifteen camels!
“Now you see,” said the ‘man from the States,’ “why we sometimes speak
of a ‘conceited ass!’”
“Only,” I answered, “this little fellow has something to be conceited
about. He has the right to say ‘look at me,’ as he trots along with the
double row of turquoise beads round his neck, leading these great big
chaps behind him. When he chooses to push ahead, they must hurry after
him; and when he condescends to turn round and ‘look over’ them, for all
the world as an officer might ‘eye’ his men, you could not discover a
more striking example of personality in the East. I declare I have
fallen in love with that charming ass!”
[Illustration:
“He has the right to say, ‘Look at me.’”
]
“Very well,” he replied with a laugh, “the next time anyone calls me an
‘ass,’ I shall be proud to accept the compliment.”
“But, seriously,” I replied, “asses are seldom as black as they’re
painted. After all, to be stubborn is one form of personality. I
remember staying in a French chateau during the war, where one donkey
had taken over the duties and responsibilities of the eighteen horses,
which had been requisitioned by the State. On Sundays, tied up to a tree
in the churchyard, while the family was inside the church, he always
waited to hear the Sanctus bell, and then brayed his loudest. He must
take part in the Mass!”
One rarely sees any driver astride his camel. He may be “considering his
beast,” but, on the other hand, he may not. For of every variety of
sickness (of the sea, the home, or love itself) is not camel-sickness
the worst?
My companion agreed that he had not found the Turks either stubborn or
unreasonable. “Everyone I met in Anatolia made an honest attempt to
understand my point of view, even when I endeavoured to explain or at
least to excuse, English policy.
“Turks are ‘stubborn,’ if you insist on the phrase, about the future of
their country; but they have given a great deal of thought to the
subject, and they speak from experience that has been bought at a big
price. I have never encountered that uncomfortable type of mind we know
so well among ourselves, and in a more aggressive, if less dangerous,
form in the States, which nothing will move from its ‘pet’ hatred or
chosen love, _in spite of_ great culture and general understanding.
“I will not quote President Wilson, because we have an even better
illustration in the late Lord Bryce. Few men could claim wider culture,
few have been so universally acknowledged a great statesman, yet the
Turk to him was no better than a red rag to a bull! And when he said
that these people were ‘unspeakable,’ the world believed it.
“I once attended a debate on whether ‘the Turks should, or should not,
be forced to abandon Constantinople.’ A judge from Constantinople had
been called to open the discussion, who said, among other things, that
‘this eternal reference to India as an excuse for backing Turkey was
mere nonsense; _because Lord Bryce had said that India was indifferent
to Turkey’s fate_!’
“Seyed Hossain, a member of the Khaliphat Delegation, then rose to
contradict this assertion. He said that he had come all the way from
India with the Khaliphat Delegation, for the express purpose of
protesting against the attitude of the Allies towards _his_ Khaliph (the
Sultan of Turkey).”
“‘My dear Sir,’ answered the judge, ‘I have absolutely full confidence
in any statement made by Lord Bryce.’
“The poor Indian was staggered for a moment, but soon found courage to
reply: ‘Has a man like Lord Bryce the _right_ to defy commonsense,
statistics, and accurate, official information. My presence here is a
clear proof that my statement is correct.’
“‘Your presence means nothing to me,’ was the ‘polite’ retort, which
concluded the debate!
“There is, of course, a very stupid kind of loyalty in such an attitude,
but it tempts one to almost despair of ever hoping to fight against its
criminal injustice to Turkey.
“It is a heavy responsibility for great men if they give rein to an
obstinate and unreasonable prejudice. It is so hard to resist those we
respect.”
* * * * *
“What do you really think about the Americans in Turkey? I am so anxious
to do my utmost for these poor people, asked my friend.”
“I, who love them, will honestly say I fear that the influence of your
people is very dangerous. For _one_ who does good, as I am sure you have
done, there are fifty who only make mischief, even undoing much of what
you have achieved.”
“The supreme merit of the Nationalist movement comes from the fact that
Turks are beginning to be _themselves_. All must be well in the end if
they are content to ‘swallow’ Europe in small doses. Already we have
with us that dangerous anomaly the European Turk. The big capitals kill
his sincerity and capture his affections by their vices. His mysterious
dark eyes (an everyday commonplace in his own country) too often prove
‘false lights’ leading him on to the rocks. It is a test of character to
ask the European Turk if he is not ‘longing to get back to Turkey?’ When
I put the question to Hussein Raghib, he said ‘if I must stay here for
my country, I will stay, but I am never happy for long so far away from
Angora and all it means to me.’ Certainly a healthy view!
“It is surely better to let the Turks work out their own salvation, only
helping when they ask for help; and even then we should be careful to
give them what they desire and not what _we_ may think best for them. It
is really cruel to tamper with other people’s ideas, particularly their
religion, and it does no good in Turkey. The gospel of Islam has made
them the fine race they will always remain at heart.
“You can do good in practical, material affairs and for the diminution
of physical suffering. I wish every American would preach the gospel of
the Rockefeller Institute all over the world: the creed of the open
window, a crusade against vermin and microbes. That would bring us a
‘new’ world.
“I would like to see a closer union between the Red Cross and the Red
Crescent. The Turks have not your organising ability; but they have many
sound ideas already operating in their hospitals.
“We must be quite sure that our civilisation is perfect before we force
it on others. It is ‘mine,’ and I owe much to it; but I, for one, can
see much to criticise.”
“I, too, believe we have no right to offer more than material
assistance, and such an example as our own efforts, towards the best we
know, may afford.”
“It is a great deal, if given in the right spirit. My own idea of
‘service’ is to try and understand the East, to prevent such terrible
blunders as our ignorance of them have brought about, which may even
involve us in the horrors of another war.
“Why should we ask Orientals to accept our civilisation and ‘look at
life’ through our eyes. It is no wiser or juster than asking a woman to
see nothing except through a man’s eyes; and to work in his way. She
cannot do that, and has suffered in the attempt. Your work is even a
great peril. It is only too probable that you will be ‘starting’ them on
the wrong road, and you must soon leave them to find their own way.
“If I am wrong, at least I speak in all sincerity; and I have studied
the question for many years. As I see it, our Western civilisations have
much to learn from the East in pity and humanity.”
“Osman Nyzami Pasha said to me once, in Rome, ‘you must not judge a
nation by its Government but by the gods it creates for itself in its
own image.’ The ancient Greeks peopled Olympus with gods of revolting
immorality; but you in Oxford forget that chapter of the story. The God
of the North——”
He paused, and I took up the challenge.
“The cold, harsh, and unforgiving Deity; the bogeyman of my childhood,
always ready with some awful punishment for the least shortcoming.
“Why are our Puritan countries, whose God is love, so unjust to women,
keeping them down under cruel and illogical laws. It is idle for men to
say that no laws can diminish the deep respect they accord to women,
which, in fact, is seldom shown to any of us except their wives,
certainly not to woman as a woman.
“I certainly hold no brief for ‘irregularity,’ but there is something
wrong with a conception of God which has produced the immeasurable gulf
between the married and the unmarried mother. Humanity is not of our
making; the ‘imperfect’ man has no right to demand ‘perfection’ from all
women. Has he not made and tolerated _War_ that has overthrown every
standard of morality, changed all our ‘values,’ shattered every ideal,
leaving religion nowhere, and two million women without a mate?
“Such is the civilisation that dares to point a finger of scorn at the
unmarried mother; and, by dismissing her, characterless and unpensioned,
from every respectable avenue of support, dares to brand a child as
unwanted, and push the innocent young life into secret and shameful
surroundings. Those who should help, with all the power of their
sheltered purity, prefer to keep themselves ‘too respectable for any
knowledge of these uncomfortable problems,’ since they are good and
faithful servants of One who said, ‘Let him who is without sin amongst
you cast the first stone!’
“All maternity is sacred to the Turk, and every child enjoys full legal
status. The super-cowardice of declaring a child as born of ‘parents
unknown’ (as you may in France) could never be allowed. If marriage be
not the high sacrament it is, theoretically, regarded in Europe, the
life of _every babe_ whom God sends us is held to be a sacred charge. Do
our missionaries in Turkey really preach the Gospel of Christ?”
* * * * *
“Do you approve, or admire, the resignation of the East, the Turk’s
ideal of being content with so little?” asked the energetic American.
“We are _both_ wrong. Their resignation too often leaves life stagnant,
our race for dollars drenches the world in blood.
“Is it not horrible for us to have to confess that all this appalling
Battle of the Cross against the Crescent, sprang out of greed for oil.
“One cannot realise what the world would be like were all nations
governed by your and my ideals. Would there ever have been a British
Empire? We can scarcely justify, on grounds of high morality, the
conquest of America; and, surely, the States could by such ruling have,
indeed, become ‘God’s own country.’”
* * * * *
When the road became rather more European, our Turkish boy friends
sought to relieve the monotony by a furious race between the two yailis,
and we were tossed about beyond all possibility of further talk. When,
however, the boys had won the first heat, I begged to be excused from
trying to secure our revenge, as the carriages did not seem solid enough
for racing.
Then behold, at the word, one of our wheels flew off! And, though we
were mercifully taking a saunter “between rounds” at the moment, we had
to follow our belongings into the mud and do what we could to help the
wheelwright.
The American, I found, had been teaching himself the language, and
claims to have read _Nasreddin Hodja_ in the original. Now he hastened
to improve the occasion by the most voluble congratulations to our
unmoved drivers. “This wheel evidently knew how to choose the
‘psychological moment’ for its detachment,” he exclaimed. “On the edge
of a mountain, we should all have been pitched into the depths; crossing
a river, our lady passenger, who cannot swim, would have been drowned;
during the race, we could not have avoided a fatal collision. If it had
to happen, it could not have happened more wisely!”
The job is finished at last; maybe hastened by such lively chatter; but
I confess we did not feel really secure. In fact, the prudent suggestion
that one of us should hold the reins while our driver “kept an eye on”
the wheel was soon justified by a second flying away of that “offending
member.” It was this time discovered that something must be found to
enlarge the circumference of the axle to keep it fixed, and I
immediately offered my pocket-handkerchief. Our driver, however, would
not hear of “depriving me” and so I begged the American “not to disturb
him, but to see how he would contrive.” Though obviously puzzled for a
few minutes, he soon justified my confidence by cutting off a good
handful of hair from the horse’s mane, and thus “fixing” the wheel once
more.
“That’s all very ingenious,” laughed my companion, “but ‘hair’ won’t
‘wear.’”
“Then he’ll find something just as original,” was my triumphant retort.
Nevertheless it was growing dark, and there were rivers ahead that would
seem to demand rather better security than we possessed. My anxieties,
however, were soon scattered to the four winds by the most astonishing
tirade of unjust contempt for all things English, in which my companion
now proceeded to indulge. My anger lasted just long enough for us to
cross the river; for once we were over, the good man explained that he’d
done it to make me furious, the only way he knew to cure a brave woman’s
fit of nerves.
* * * * *
At last the welcome smoke, rising from peat cottage-fires, brings the
comforting knowledge that we have almost reached Enichéir; and we are
soon happily searching for some sort of a resting place that may call
itself “an inn.” We are offered the choice of four beds in a room with
five others already occupied, or an empty, partially wrecked, sleeping
apartment containing two!—one for me, one for the boys, and the American
on the floor.
We naturally accept the latter, and immediately get busy about some
cooking and a wash. After the day’s roughening experiences one can sleep
whatever the details of the accommodation!
At about 9.30 that evening we are awakened by the police, who, however,
explain that I am only “wanted” by the Commandant, who has called to
wish me _bon voyage_, and inquire if there is anything he can do for my
comfort or to speed me on the way.
“It is not now the Pasha and four wives,” said I, as our visitor soon
discreetly left us, “but the Englishwoman and three husbands!”
Next morning after a pleasant hour of mutual assistance in heating the
water and holding a looking-glass for each other, with, as I told them,
“the most courtly assistants any woman could desire,” the American goes
out in order to fix that wheel to his own satisfaction and, by
inference, to mine. We have two more days in the yailis and cannot
afford to lose time.
Our next halting-place is still more primitive, with its four houses,
the tiny inn, a large stable, and a poultry yard. Here, however, the
Mayor is ready to join us, in his long Persian shawl, robe, and turban,
his documents wrapped in a case of flannel. Like the driver, I notice
that, as he steps into his seat, he is careful to take off his muddy
shoes. Indeed, the godly cleanliness of Islam, if it does not quite
follow our Western traditions, is a very real and honest ideal. The
body, as the cheik had assured me, is clean if the clothes be dirty; and
I am beginning to think that those “little visitors” in the hotel beds
must really be “suffered in kindness.”
I well remember the shock with which one of my friends met the
suggestion that he might drown some of the kittens who were arriving,
just then, with most alarming rapidity. He said, “the Koran would not
permit it!”
Another weary day, amidst so much mud and so many ruins, naturally stirs
my companion to thoughts of what might be done by a few dollars.
“I do not mind your having any concessions,” I said, “if you will keep
your hands off the architecture. I was hearing the other day about a
scheme for building a railway in co-operation with the Turks: one rail
to be laid by them and the other by the Americans! I should feel far
more safe in a yaili with _one_ wheel!
It is a delightful pastime to work out big schemes for smashing up
Europe, Asia, and America; in order to rebuild the world tastefully and
according to hygiene, like a couple of happy children with their bricks;
but we have at last reached the conclusion of the whole matter. East is
East and West is West. If they attempt to “take turns” building
railways, the trains will certainly “go off the line.”
I have never been able to understand why anyone should be so afraid of
the Cheriat Laws. With all respect for my present company, I say, what I
afterwards repeated to Sir William Tyrell, “I would rather trust myself
in a Turkish court than appeal to American justice.” In the first case,
you may find yourself in the hands of a kind-hearted judge; the second
adventure depends entirely on cash. English justice has no equal; but
our laws for women are themselves unjust, and the best workman can do
little with poor material. Trials, like marriages in foreign countries,
should be illegal unless the Consul, or someone equally expert, is
present to “watch for” his fellow-countryman. What crimes have not we
committed in the name of Justice through ignorance of foreign customs!
“Those who face the choice of trusting themselves to the Cheriat or
keeping away from Turkey, may find that these laws are not so terrible
after all,” answered the American.
Zeyneb once said that the great merit of Moslem “Commandments” was the
absence of mystery. “The i’s are all carefully dotted. We are not told,
for instance, that we should give to the poor; we _are_ told the precise
percentage of income that must be allotted to charity. Though our laws
come from the great Prophet of Allah they are not ecclesiastical.”
In Moslem countries the Head of the State must be elected by the people;
he has full executive and legislative power, but he is also personally
responsible to the nation. We cannot deny that Mustapha Kemal Pasha has
rigidly adhered to this theory of government in his daily practice.
This is the true Democracy. Born without any advantages of caste or
family, Fethi Bey laughs at all my allusions to “old ancestors.” The
attitude does seem peculiar to Western minds, and may often lead to
confusion between us, but it is not without charm.
“How do these very intelligent, modern Turks attempt to reconcile their
zeal for liberal reform with their firm loyalty to Islam? How do they
account for the decline in prestige and power that none can deny has
been their fate?”
“My friends at the Assembly attribute the temporary fall of Turkey to
the strong, non-progressive, influence of the hodjas, who have converted
themselves into a powerful priestly class, as forbidden by the Prophet.
Others attribute it to ignorance of economics; others to Western
remoulding of Islam, and foreign oppression; others still, to a
perpetual state of war.”
“What is the Pasha’s personal opinion?”
“No man,” he says, “can live without complete liberty and full freedom;
nor can any nation. So long as the interests of my own country permit
it, I will be the friend of all nations and all humanity; but when any
nation begins to tamper with our freedom and our independence, as
Germany did in the war, then we can only resist and fight to the bitter
end. I sought to discover my people’s will, and I found they were ready
for any sacrifice to defend their country. I had faith in the sons of
Turkey, and my faith has justified itself to the utmost.”
“There has, indeed, been no finer movement among the ‘despised and
rejected’ since the world began.”
* * * * *
“Here comes my friend the sun,” I exclaimed; “a snow-capped Olympus, the
cypress beneath the azure! Why is our driver using his whip with such
unusual success, just when we want to linger and admire—— Do you know,
my friend, should I paint this soil, in all its varied tones from ruby
to terra-cotta, all men would cry out, ‘that woman always sees her
Turkey _en coleur de rose_!’”
“I will bear witness,” laughed my friend.
“But, seriously,” I went on, “does it not mean iron; rich veins of iron
that it would _pay_ someone to produce?”
In this district of lonely marshland, one can at least rejoice in the
cold for one reason. It has driven away the flies and mosquitoes.
“Why does not your country find the capital and send over our unemployed
ex-service men to help the Turks drain and cultivate these waste lands?”
When I afterwards spoke of the possibility at Lausanne, I was told that
“something might be done!”
* * * * *
Now we have reached Broussa, and our young Turks hurry forward to
announce our arrival to the Governor.
It is more trying than ever to lack springs, as we jolt over the loose
cobbles of these primitive and neglected town streets. But I could
cheerfully have put up with far greater discomfort to reach, at last,
the “luxurious” (in comparison) Hotel Brotte, its glowing fire, can
after can of water, clean sheets, and the blessed chance of changing
one’s clothes and really _brushing_ one’s hair.
[Illustration:
THE TOMB OF THE SULTAN OSMAN AT BROUSSA.
p. 272
]
This is _not_ the Savoy, but, surely, something better!
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