CEREMONIES OF BIRTH AND INFANCY.
The Birth of a Turkish Child—Midwives—Mummification of the
Baby—Amulets—The State Bedstead—Naming the Child—Invalid
Diet—Reception of Friends and Strangers—Treatment of the
Baby—Evil Eye, and Remedies thereagainst—Bathing of Mother
and Child—Daubing of the Mother and Refreshment of the
Guests—The Cradle—Opiates given to Children—Treatment
of Baby Illnesses—Food—Deaths from Over-eating—Late
weaning—Circumcision—Procession—Rejoicings—Hospitality—The
Diseases of Childhood and their Treatment in
Turkey—Fosterage—Attempted Census—Frequent Deaths of
Mothers—Births among the Jews—Armenian Birth Ceremonies—Births
among the Greeks—Remains of Ancient Customs—The
Christening—Triple Immersion—Dedication of Hair—Confirmation
by Anointing—Conscientious Performance of the Duties of
Sponsors—Hardiness of Bulgarian Women—Their Indifference to
Lying-in—Their Sorrows—Survival only of the Fittest—A Bulgarian
and her Cow—Doctoring Children.
The birth of a Turkish child is left very much to nature, slightly aided
by the unscientific assistance of the _Ebé Kadin_ or midwives, who are
very numerous in the country, recruited from the lower strata of society,
and belonging to all creeds. They are ignorant, uneducated, and possess
not the most rudimentary knowledge of medicine or of the surgical art.
Some of these women, however, from long experience and natural _savoir
faire_, acquire a certain repute for ability, well justified by the
success they sometimes obtain in difficult cases. All _Ebés_ who have
attained this height of superiority are much esteemed in Turkish society;
they are admitted into elevated circles, and are entitled to special
marks of honor and attention.
As soon as a Turkish child is born it is enveloped in a tiny chemise
and _Libardé_, or quilted jacket of many colors, bound with a swathe;
its limbs are pulled straight down, and then imprisoned in a number of
quilted wrappers and tightly bandaged all over by another swathe, giving
the unfortunate mummified being the appearance of a Bologna sausage. A
red silk cap is placed on the head, ornamented with a pearl tassel, one
or two fine gold coins, and a number of amulets and charms against the
evil eye.
These objects consist of a head of garlic, a piece of alum, a copy of
one or two verses of the Koran plaited in little triangles and sewn in
bits of blue cloth, and a number of blue glass ornaments in the shape
of hands, horseshoes, etc. The baby, thus decked out, is next placed in
a fine square quilted covering, one corner of which forms a hood, the
other three being crossed over its body; a red gauze veil, thrown over
the whole, completing its toilette. After the child’s birth a state
couch is prepared on a bedstead used for the occasion, decorated with
the richest silks, the heaviest gold embroideries, and the finest gauzes
of the East. The bed is first covered with a gauze sheet, worked with
gold threads; five or six long pillows of various colored silks, covered
with richly-embroidered pillow-cases, open at the ends, occupy the head
and one side of the couch; one or two _yorgans_, or quilted coverlets,
heavily laden with gold embroidery, occasionally mixed with pearls and
precious stones and the under-sides lined with gauze sheets, are thrown
over it. On this bed of state the happy mother is placed, at no small
sacrifice of ease and comfort. Her head is encircled with a red _Fotoz_,
or scarf, ornamented with a bunch of charms similar to that placed on the
head of the child, the garlic insinuating its head through the red veil
that falls on the temples. A stick, surmounted by an onion, is placed in
one corner of the room, against the wall.
When these preliminary arrangements have been made, the husband is
admitted, who, after felicitating his wife on the happy event, has his
offspring put into his arms; he at once carries it behind the door, and
after muttering a short prayer, shouts three times into the baby’s ear
the name chosen for it. He then gives back the infant to its mother, and
quits the room.[19]
For several days (the exact time depending upon the mother’s health)
water, either for drinking or ablutionary purposes, is not comprised
in the régime imposed upon the invalid, whose lips may be parched with
thirst, but not a drop of water is given to her. Sherbet, made from a
kind of candied sugar and spices, varied by a tisane extracted from the
maidenhair fern, is the only drink administered. Turkish ladies, after
confinement, get little rest; the moment the event is known, relations,
friends, and neighbors crowd in, and are at once permitted to enter the
chamber and partake of sherbet, sweets, and coffee, not even abstaining
from their inveterate habit of smoking cigarettes.
On the second day a great quantity of this sherbet is prepared, and
bottles of it sent to friends and acquaintances by _Musdadjis_,[20]
also an invitation to the _Djemiet_, or reception held on the third
day. The house on this occasion is thrown open to visitors, invited or
uninvited. Dinner is served to the former, and sherbet to the latter.
Bands of music are in attendance to receive and accompany upstairs the
most distinguished guests, who arrive in groups, preceded by servants
bearing baskets of sweets prettily got up with flowers and gilt paper and
enveloped in gauze tied up with ribbons.
The guests are first conducted into an ante-chamber, where they are
divested of their _Yashmaks_ and _Feridjés_ (veils and cloaks) previously
to being introduced to the presence of the invalid. The latter kisses the
hands of all the elderly _hanoums_, who say to her, “Mashallah, ermuli
kadunli olsoun.”[21] Very little notice is taken of the baby, and even
then only disparaging remarks are made about it, both by relatives and
guests, such as _Murdar_ (dirty), _Chirkin_ (ugly), _Yaramaz_ (naughty).
If looked at it is immediately spat upon, and then left to slumber in
innocent unconsciousness of the undeserved abuse it has received. Abusive
and false epithets are employed by Turkish women under all circumstances
worthy of inviting praise or admiration, in order to counteract the
supposition of ill-feeling or malice underlying the honeyed words of the
speaker, which are sure to be turned against her in case of any accident
or evil happening to the subject of the conversation.
As soon as the visitors have departed a few cloves are thrown into the
brazier, to test whether any ill effects of the evil eye have been left
behind. Should the cloves happen to burst in burning, the inference is
drawn that the evil eye has exerted its influence; the consequences of
which can only be averted by some hair from the heads of the mother and
child being cut off and burnt with the view of fumigating the unfortunate
victims with the noxious vapor. Prayers and sundry incantations,
intermingled with blowings and spittings, are made over the heads of
the stricken creatures, and only desisted from when a fit of yawning
proclaims that the ill effects of the _Nazar_ (evil eye) have been
finally banished.
The party suspected of having given the Nazar is next surreptitiously
visited by some old woman, who manages to possess herself of a scrap of
some part of the suspected person’s dress, with which a second fumigation
is made.
Among the lower orders, coffee, sugar, and other provisions frequently
replace the baskets of sweets; and if the father of the child is an
official, his superior and subordinates may accompany these with gifts of
value. The poor, who cannot afford to give dinners, content themselves
with offering sherbet and coffee to their visitors. With the poor the
third, and with the rich the eighth, day is appointed for the bathing of
the mother and child. There is a curious but deeply-rooted superstition,
accepted by all Turkish women, which imposes upon them the necessity of
never leaving the mother and child alone, for fear they should become
_Albalghan mish_, possessed by the Peris. The red scarves and veils are,
I believe, also used as preservatives against this imaginary evil. When a
poor person is unavoidably left alone, a broom is placed by the bedside
to mount guard over her and her child.
If the ceremony of the bath takes place in the house, the _Ebé Kadin_
and a number of friends are invited to join the bathers and partake of
luncheon or some other refreshment. When the ceremony is carried out
at the public bath, the company march there in procession, headed by
the _Ebé Kadin_ carrying the baby. Each family sends a carpet and the
bathing linen tied up in a bundle, covered with embroidery and pearls
sometimes amounting in value to 30_l._ or 40_l._ The mother and child are
naturally the chief objects of attention. The former, divested of her
clothing, is wrapped in her silk scarf offered to her by the _Hammamji
Hanoum_ (mistress of the bath), puts on a pair of high pattens worked
with silver, and is led into the inner bath, supported on one side by
the Hammamji and on the other by some friend, the baby in the charge of
the _Ebé Kadin_ bringing up the rear. Hot water is thrown over it, and
it is rubbed and scrubbed, keeping the company alive with its screams of
distress. This concluded, the infant is carried out, and its mother taken
in hand by her _Ebé Kadin_, who, before commencing operations, throws
a bunch of keys into the basin, muttering some prayers, and then blows
three times into it. A few pails of water are thrown over the bather,
and after the washing of the head and sundry manipulations have been
performed she is led to the centre platform, where she is placed in a
reclining position, with her head resting on a silver bowl. A mixture
of honey, spices, and aromatics, forming a brownish mess, is thickly
besmeared all over her body, and allowed to remain about an hour. Her
friends surround her during this tedious process, and amuse her with
songs and lively conversation, every now and then transferring some of
this composition from her body to their mouths with their fingers. The
spicy coating thus fingered gives to the lady a singular zebra like
appearance; but, though not becoming, it is believed to possess very
strengthening and reviving powers, and it is considered a good augury
even to get only a taste of it. What remains of this mixture after the
friends have been sufficiently regaled is washed off.
The lady, no doubt greatly benefited by this application, is then wrapped
in her bathing dress, the borders of which are worked with gold, and is
ready to leave the bath. Previous to doing so, she must make a round of
the baths, and kiss the hands of all the elderly ladies, who say to her
in return “_shifalou olsoun_.”[22] Refreshments are offered in abundance
to the guests during the ceremony, which lasts the greater part of the
day. These formalities are only _de rigueur_ at the birth of the first
child; at other times they are optional.
The cradle (_beshik_) plays a great part in the first stage of baby
existence. It is a very strange arrangement, and, like many Turkish
things and customs, not very easy to describe. It is a long, narrow,
wooden box fixed upon two rockers, the ends of which rise a foot and a
half above the sides, and are connected at their summits by a strong
rail, which serves as a support to the nurse when giving nourishment to
the child. The mattress is hard and no pillow is allowed. The baby lies
on its back with its arms straight down by its sides, its legs drawn
down, and toes turned in.
It is kept in this position by a swathe, which bandages the child all
over to the cradle. A small cushion is placed on the chest, and another
on the knees of the child, to keep it in position and prevent the bandage
from hurting it. The infant thus secured becomes a perfect fixture,
the head being the only member allowed the liberty of moving from side
to side. This strange contrivance (called the _kundak_) has a very
distorting effect, and is one of the principal causes of the want of
symmetry in the lower limbs of the Turks and of the Armenians (who are
reared in the same fashion), who are, as a rule, bow-legged and turn
their toes in. I believe the _kundak_ system is going out of fashion
among the higher classes, but it is still resorted to by the lower, who
find it extremely convenient on account of the leisure it affords to
the mother. The child, thus disposed of, is left in the cradle for five
or six hours at a time; it is occasionally nursed, and in the intervals
sucks an _emsik_ composed of masticated bread and sugar, or some Rahat
lakoum (Turkish delight), tied up in a piece of muslin.
All Turkish mothers and many Armenians of the lower orders administer
strong sleeping draughts, generally of opium, poppy-head, or theriac,
to their infants; some carry the abuse of these to such an extent that
the children appear always in a drowsy state, the countenance pale, the
eyelids half closed, the pupils of the eyes contracted, the lips parched
and dry, and a peculiar hazy expression fixed upon the face; all the
movements are lethargic, in marked contrast to the sprightly motion of a
healthy European child. The natural baby-cry is replaced by a low moan,
and no eagerness is shown for the mother’s milk, only an inclination to
remain listless and inactive. I have known mothers give as many as five
opium pills to a restless child in one night. Besides the stupefying
effect of these opiates on the brain, they are highly injurious to the
digestive organs, occasioning constipation, which, treated under the
designation of _sangyu_ (colics), is increased by frequent employment
of heating medicines, such as spirits of mint, camomile, or aniseed. A
Turkish mother never thinks of giving her child an aperient; almond oil
is the nearest approach to a remedy of this kind.
Sleeplessness, uneasiness, or slight indisposition in babies is generally
put down to the effects of the evil eye. Any old woman, whose _nefs_,
or breath, is considered most efficacious, is called in. She takes hold
of the child, mutters prayers over it, exercising a sort of mesmeric
influence, and blowing it at intervals, a remedy that results in soothing
the child to sleep for a while. Should her breathing powers prove
inefficacious, the _Sheikh_ (whose _nefs_ is held in the highest esteem)
is called in. The magnetizing powers of the latter are increased by the
addition of a _muska_ (amulet) hung round the neck of the child, for
which a shilling is paid. When all these remedies prove unavailing, the
doctor is applied to, but his advice, generally little understood and
less credited, is never thoroughly carried out. The Turks have no faith
in medicine or doctors—“kismet” overrides all such human efforts.
No régime is followed with regard to the food of a child. It is allowed
to eat whatever it can get hold of, and digest it as best it can. The
excesses into which children are liable to fall by the indulgence of
sweets and other unwholesome food often lead to serious consequences.
I have seen a splendid child two years old die, after an illness of
seven hours, from indigestion caused by eating an undue quantity of
boiled Indian corn, a favorite dish among Turkish children. I have also
witnessed two other similarly painful cases; one of a girl nine years of
age, who, after consuming a large quantity of heavy pastry, was found
dead, crouched up in a corner of a room; the other of a boy seven years
old, whose partiality for pickles brought on inflammation of the bowels,
from which, after forty days, he died.
Turkish children are nursed up to the age of eighteen months, and even
to three years. Some foolish mothers will nurse their children as long
as Nature supplies them with the necessary nourishment. I knew a boy
of five years of age who was still being nursed. The strangest part of
this case was that his foster-mother, a woman with whom I was personally
acquainted, had never had a child of her own, but, determining to
participate in part in the sweets of maternity, had adopted a baby, which
she perseveringly nursed till Nature by some strange freak provided her
with milk!
Weaning is perhaps the most critical period of babyhood. A little basket
is provided by the tender parents, into which all kinds of fruits and
sweets are heaped, and left at the child’s disposal to eat as much as
it likes. The consequence of this injurious custom is the complete
derangement and distension of the stomach, the effects of which are
often noticeable in after-life. Rice and starch, boiled in water, are
the ingredients Turkish women sometimes use for baby-food, feeding them
invariably with their fingers; but it is impossible to say what they do
or do not feed them with, for there is no notion in Turkey of a regular
system for bringing up children.
A rite of childhood which must not be passed over, since it is
accompanied by curious ceremonies, is circumcision. The obligatory
duty of parents in this matter falls heavily on the middle classes and
entails great expense upon the budget of the wealthy. When a Turk of
some standing is expected to have a _Sunnet Duhun_, the coming event is
watched for by a number of persons who cannot afford individually to
undertake the responsibility of the outlay the ceremony would involve.
All such individuals send in the names of their children, begging that
they might be allowed to participate in the ceremonial rite. The grandee
appealed to fixes the number of these according to his means or his
generosity. When the ceremony takes place in the imperial palace, the
Sultans have not the liberty of limiting the number of applicants, which
sometimes amounts to thousands, and occasions a very heavy drain upon the
treasury.
The _Sunnet Duhun_ begins on a Monday and lasts a whole week. The ages
of the candidates range from four to ten years. The boys are sent to the
bath, where the uncropped tufts of hair left on the crown of their heads
are plaited with gold threads allowed to hang down their backs up to the
moment of initiation. The chief candidate is provided with a suit of
clothes richly worked with gold and ornamented on the breast with jewels
in the shape of a shield; his fez is also entirely covered with jewels.
The number of precious ornaments necessary for the ceremony is so great
that they have in part to be borrowed from relatives and friends, who are
in duty bound to lend them. The caps and coats of all the minor aspirants
are equally studded with gems. They are provided with complete suits of
clothes by the family in whose house the _Sunnet Duhun_ is held, by whom
also all other expenses connected with the ceremony are defrayed.
On the Monday, the youths decked out in their parade costumes, and led
by some old ladies, make a round of calls at the harems and invite
their friends for the coming event; Monday and Tuesday being dedicated
to a series of entertainments given in the Selamlik, where hospitality
is largely extended to the poor as well as the rich. Wednesday and
Thursday are reserved to the Haremlik, where great rejoicings take place,
enlivened by bands of music and dancing girls. On the morning of the
latter day the ladies busy themselves in arranging the state bed, as well
as a number of others of more modest appearance. The boys, in the mean
time, mounted upon richly-caparisoned steeds and accompanied by their
Hodjas, the family barber, and some friends, and preceded by music, pass
in procession through the town. On returning home the party is received
at the door by the parents of the boys. The father of the principal
candidate takes the lead and stands by the side of the stepping-block,
the barber and Hodja taking their places by his side. The horse of the
young bey is brought round, and the hand of the father, extended to
help him to dismount, is stayed for a moment by that of the Hodja, who
solemnly asks him, “With what gift hast thou endowed thy son?” The
parent then declares the present intended for his son, which may consist
of landed property or any object of value according to his means, and
then assists him to dismount. The other boys follow, each claiming and
receiving a gift from his father or nearest of kin. Should any of the
boys be destitute of relatives, the owner of the house takes the father’s
place and portions him.
The children are then taken to the Haremlik, where they remain until
evening, when they return to the Selamlik and do not again see their
mothers till the morning of the completion of the ceremony, when they are
carried to the Haremlik and placed upon the beds prepared for them. The
entertainments this day are carried on in both departments. The children
are visited by all their friends and relations, who offer them money and
other presents; the ladies every now and then disappearing in order to
allow the gentlemen to enter and bring their offerings. The money and
gifts collected on these occasions sometimes amount to considerable sums.
The Hodja and barber are equally favored. The _Musdadji_ receives a gold
piece from the mother on announcing to her the completion of the sacred
rite.
Every effort is made in the harem to amuse and please the children, and
beguile the time for them till evening, when the fatigue and feverish
excitement of the day begin to tell upon them, and they show signs of
weariness, the signal for the break-up of the party. On the next day
the boys are taken home by their relatives, but the entertainments are
continued in the principal house till the following Monday.
The Turks, hospitable on all occasions, are particularly so on this, and
consider it a religious duty to show special regard and attention to the
poor and destitute.
It is difficult to give a definite idea of the expense incurred by this
ceremony among the rich. The lowest estimate among the middle classes,
who limit it to one day, would be from 10_l._ to 12_l._, while the poor
are enriched by it to the extent of 2_l._ or 3_l._
Turkish children are subject to much the same diseases as those of
other nations. The most terrible of these used to be small-pox, which
committed fearful ravages, carrying off great numbers, and leaving its
mark in blindness or some other organic defect in those who survived it.
Its ravages, however, have greatly diminished since the introduction
of vaccination, now pretty generally adopted throughout the country.
Teething, measles, whooping-cough, scarlatina, and low intermittent
fevers are the principal maladies prevalent among Turkish children. A
doctor is rarely called in; the treatment of the invalid is left to the
mother’s instincts, aided by some old woman’s doubtful pharmacopœia and
the saintly influence of _Hodjas_, whose superstitious rites are firmly
believed in by the applicants. Diphtheria, unknown in the country until
the arrival of the Circassian immigrants, may also be classed among
the prevalent infantile maladies; fortunately it has seldom been known
to rage as an epidemic, otherwise its ravages would be incalculable by
reason of the entire disregard of quarantine laws.
Mortality, however, among Turkish children is considerable, and one of
the causes why large families are so rarely to be met with. A bey of
Serres, for instance, possessed of a goodly number of wives, who had
borne him about fifty children, saw only seven of them live to attain
manhood.
In wealthy families a wet-nurse is engaged, called _Sut nana_
(foster-mother), who enjoys great privileges, both during the time
she serves and afterwards. Her own child becomes the _Sut kardash_
(foster-brother) of her nursling, a bond of relationship recognized
through life, and allowing the foster-children, if of different sexes,
to set aside, if they choose, the law of _Namekhram_, and see each
other freely. Besides the foster-mother, a _Dadi_, or nursemaid, is at
once appointed to attend upon a child of rank. She has the care of its
wardrobe, and upon her devolves the duty of sleeping near the cradle.
Correct statistical information of births cannot be obtained, as
no registration exists. Census regulations were for the first time
introduced into the country by Sultan Mahmoud, and they have been but
imperfectly carried out by his successors. During Sultan Abdul-Medjid’s
lifetime a census of the population (excluding women) was made, but
the Mohammedans, fearing the consequences in the conscription laws,
tried as much as possible to avoid giving correct information; many
people were represented as dead, others put down far above or below
their actual ages. Every seven or eight years this census is taken and
each time more strictly enforced, but the absence of birth-registration
greatly facilitates the frustration of the Government’s desire for exact
statements. The number of children in a Turkish family, notwithstanding
the system of polygamy, is never great, ranging between two and eight. If
the first children happen to be females, the mother is still ambitious
of possessing a male child, but should the latter come first she is
satisfied, and resorts to every means in her power to prevent further
additions to her family. A Turkish mother may practically, with impunity,
destroy her offspring if she chooses at any stage of her pregnancy; and
this cruel and immoral custom is resorted to by all classes of society,
often resulting in dangerous accidents, occasioning injuries felt through
life, and sometimes having fatal results. Strong opiates are also
resorted to for the same purpose, as well as a number of extraordinary
means passing description. Many dangerous medicines used with this
object, which in Europe are disposed of with difficulty, or of which the
sale is even prohibited, are every year shipped for Turkey, where they
find numerous purchasers. During a short visit I made to Philippopolis I
stayed at the house of the Mudir of Haskia; his newly-married wife was
very young, extremely pretty, and delicate. She was very much depressed
at the idea of becoming a mother, before becoming rather plumper; for
_embonpoint_ is a great object of ambition with Turkish ladies. When, on
my return to Haskia, I stopped at the same house, the delicate beauty
was dead, and her place already filled by a robust young rustic, who
bustled about, trying with awkward efforts to accustom her untrained
nature to the duties of her new position. On making inquiries about the
previous wife in whom I was interested, I was quietly told that she had
succumbed about two months previously to some violent measures she had
used in order to procure abortion, and had been found dead in her bath.
Her untimely end was due to the instrumentality of a Jewish quack, who,
though having evidently caused the death of the poor woman, never lost
any social position from what was simply considered as a misadventure.
I have heard from a trustworthy Turkish source that in Constantinople
alone not less that 4000 instances of abortion are procured annually
with the assistance of a class of women known as Kaulii Ebé, who earn
considerable sums by their nefarious practice. This statement has been
confirmed by the “Djeridé i Havadis” newspaper, and in an article which
appeared in the Bassuret newspaper on the serious decrease of the
population. The writer (a Turk) says this decrease is owing, first, to
the conscription; secondly, to polygamy; thirdly, to the prevalence of
artificial abortion; fourthly, to the absence of all sanitary precautions
in domestic economy.
The births among other Eastern nations have all their peculiar
ceremonies; some originating in national traditions, others being copied
from the customs of the dominant nation. Jewesses pride themselves
greatly when nature has made them prolific mothers; even the poorest
rejoice over successive births, particularly when the children are
males. On all such occasions, friends and relatives gather round the
expectant mother, giving much of their time to her company, and making
every effort to amuse her and make her less sensitive to the pains and
anxieties of maternity. In some towns, Adrianople for instance, regular
_réunions_ take place round the sick-couch (including visitors of both
sexes), enlivened by music and dancing. If the child be a girl, its name
is given to it; if a boy, it is circumcised. A Rabbi is called in, and a
godfather and godmother chosen. The latter carries the baby to the door
of the room and delivers it to the former, who holds the infant during
the initiation; it is then returned to the mother, and a feast is given
on the occasion.
The Armenians have conformed more to the Turkish customs than any other
race in the country. An Armenian confinement is assisted by a midwife,
herself an Armenian, and as ignorant as her Turkish colleague; only in
difficult cases is a doctor resorted to. The ceremonies at an Armenian
birth are scarcely less superstitious than the Turkish rites. They are of
a more vague and indefinite character. If possible, a mother and child
should not be left alone the first few days; but the broom is replaced
by the venerated image of the Holy Virgin or some saint, put on guard
over the bed. Garlic is not resorted to as a safeguard against the evil
eye, but holy water is nightly sprinkled over child and mother, who are
also fumigated with the holy olive-branch. The company received on these
occasions is quiet, and only part of the Turkish show and pageantry is
displayed in the adornment of the bed. The child has the same Bologna
sausage appearance, modified by a European baby’s cap. A neighbor of mine
once brought her child to me in great distress, saying it had not ceased
crying for three days and nights, without her being able to guess the
reason. I made her at once unbandage the baby, and soon discovered the
cause. A long hair had in some inexplicable manner wound itself round the
child’s thumb, which was swollen to a disproportionate size through the
stoppage of the circulation, and was nearly severed from the little hand.
About the ninth day the bath ceremony takes place; but instead of the
mother’s body providing food for her guests by the honeyed plaster of
the Turkish woman, all sit down to a substantial luncheon in which the
_Yahlan dolma_ and the _lakana turshou_ (Sauerkraut) play a prominent
part, and which is brought into the bath on this occasion.
As the christening takes place within eight days, it cannot on that
account be witnessed by the mother, who is unable to attend the
church services before the fortieth day, when she goes to receive the
benediction of purification. Part of the water used for the christening
is presumably brought from the river Jordan, and the child is also rubbed
with holy oil. The service concluded, the party walk home in procession,
headed by the midwife carrying the baby. Refreshments are offered to the
company, who soon afterwards retire. A gift of a gold cross or a fine
gold coin is made to the child by the sponsors.
No system of diet is followed in the rearing of Armenian children, nor
are their bodies refreshed by a daily bath. Few people in the East bathe
their children, like Europeans, for a general idea prevails that it is an
injurious custom and a fertile cause of sickness. Kept neither clean nor
neat, they are allowed to struggle through infancy in a very irregular
manner. Yet in spite of this they are strong and healthy.
The customs among the higher classes of Greeks and Bulgarians are very
much alike. The latter, though now more backward, were till lately pretty
faithful copies of the former. Their usages differ according to the
district, and depend upon the degree of progress civilization has made
among the people. At Constantinople, for instance, everything takes place
just as in Europe; but in district towns, such as Adrianople, Salonika,
Vodena, Serres, many of the superstitions of the ancient Greeks may
still be found in connection with the birth of a child. At Serres, for
example, the event is awaited in silence by the midwife and a few elderly
relatives; when the little stranger arrives, the good news is taken to
the anxious father, and then circulated through the family, who soon
collect round the maternal couch and offer their hearty felicitations,
saying, “Νἀ πολυχρονήση.” The infant in its turn receives the same good
wishes, and after being bathed in salt and water is wrapped up (but not
mummified) and laid by the side of the mother, who can press its little
hand and watch its tiny feet moving about under their coverings. The
couch is kept for three days, when the accouchée is made to rise from it,
walking in a stream of water poured by the _mammê_ (accoucheuse) from a
bottle along her path. This custom must be connected with the conception
of water as the emblem of purity, and must be intended to remind the
mother that her strength must ever rest upon her chastity. On this night
a woof and some gold and silver coins are placed under the pillow, as a
hint to the Moeræ, or fates, who are supposed to visit the slumbering
infant, that they may include riches and industry in the benefits they
bestow upon it.
The christening, as a rule, takes place within eight days after the
birth. The _Koumbáros_ and the _Koumbára_ (also called _Nono_ and
_Nona_) stand as godfather and godmother to the child, who is carried
to the church by the _mammê_ followed by the sponsors, the relatives,
and friends invited to the ceremony. The cost of the baptismal robe, the
bonbons, liqueurs, and all other expenses connected with the rite are
defrayed by the Nono. The lowest estimate of the cost is 2_l._ 10_s._,
and, though a great outlay for a poor family, they are never known to be
omitted.
The child, held by the godfather, is met at the church door by the
officiating priests, who read over it part of the service, the Nono
responding to the questions.
The priest then holds the child in an erect attitude, and standing on the
steps of the church makes the sign of the cross with it. It is then taken
by the godfather and placed for a moment before the shrine of Christ or
the Virgin, according to its sex, while the priests, proceeding to the
font, pour in the hot water and some of the oil brought by the sponsor
and consecrated in the church. The infant is taken from his hands, and in
its original nakedness plunged three times into the font. Three pieces
of hair are cut from its head in the form of crosses and thrown into the
water, which is poured into a consecrated well in the church. The cutting
off of these locks of hair probably had its origin in a custom observed
by the ancient Greeks, who dedicated their hair to the water deities; now
it signifies the dedication of the infants to Christ at their baptism.
The sign of the cross is made on the head and parts of the body with holy
oil, signifying confirmation. The child is then delivered into the hands
of the godmother, who carries it three times round the font while prayers
are being read; it is then taken to the holy gates, where the communion
is administered in both hands with a spoon, so that the three sacraments,
baptism, confirmation, and the Eucharist, are all given to the child
while an unconscious infant.
The service concluded, the party return to the house to partake of
bonbons, liqueurs, etc., and to be decorated with small crosses attached
to favors given as mementoes of the event.
The members of the orthodox church are perhaps the only people who do
not content themselves with making solemn promises for the child, but
conscientiously fulfil them to the best of their ability. The Nono and
Nona, in consequence of the responsibilities they assume, become so
closely connected with their godchildren that marriage between these and
their own children is not permitted.
While the Bulgarian lady in town is setting aside many of the usages
and superstitions attached to the rearing of children, a word or two
about her hardy sister in the rural districts may not be out of place
here. While staying at Bulgarian villages it was very pleasant to me to
watch the simplicity, activity, and wonderful physical strength of the
peasantry.
The Bulgarian women are rather small but thickly set, their chests well
developed, their limbs powerful through constant exercise, and their
whole frames admirably adapted for bearing children. They do not, as a
rule, bear many, as they seldom marry young, and their life of constant
toil and hardship makes them sterile before the natural time.
The delicate touch of refinement has not yet reached these strong
natures, whose systems, kept free from special care and anxiety, remain
proof against shocks that would kill many an apparently strong woman
whose physical training had not been the same. Providence is the sole
guardian that watches over these peasants, and nature the only fountain
from which they derive their support. I remember the ease of a Bulgarian
_bulka_, the wife of a tenant attached to the farm at which I was
staying. She was a fine young woman, bright-looking, clean, and well
dressed; her bare feet were small and well shaped, her mien erect and
free, although she appeared far advanced in pregnancy. Daily I used to
watch her walk out of the yard, with her two large copper pails slung on
a rod gracefully poised on her shoulder, and go to the fountain to fetch
water. One evening I saw her return later than usual; her step seemed
lighter although her pails were full, and her pretty apron, the ends of
which were tucked into her sash, contained something I could not well
discern at a distance, but which, as she approached, I was surprised to
see was a new-born baby, with its tiny feet peeping out on one side.
Passing the door of a neighbor, she smilingly beckoned to her, pointing
to the infant in her apron, and asked for her assistance. I followed
shortly after, curious to see how fared this prodigy of nature. I found
her quietly reposing on the bed that had been hastily prepared for her on
the floor, while her companion was washing the infant. The latter, after
its bath, was thoroughly salted, wrapped in its clothes, and laid by the
side of the mother; but the miseries of the little being did not end
there; a pan was produced, some oil poured into it and set to boil; in
this three eggs were broken and cooked into an omelette. This was placed
on a cloth with a quantity of black pepper sifted over it, and applied to
the head of the unfortunate infant, who began at once to scream in great
distress. I naturally inquired the benefit to be derived in salting and
poulticing the new-born child, and was told that if not salted, its feet
or some other part of its body would exhale offensive odors, and that the
application of the poultice was to solidify the skull and render it proof
against sunstroke. The next morning the mother was up going through the
usual routine of her household work. She assured me that in a few days
she would resume her field labor, carrying her suckling with her, which,
she added, “now fanned by the evening breeze, now scorched by the burning
rays of the sun, would all the same brave the adverse elements: _Ako ema
strabi jive_ (if it has life to live).”
Struck by the fatalistic meaning of her words, I asked how could a weak
or delicate child stand such a trial. “Stand it!” she repeated, “who
said it did? With us a delicate child does not outlive the year.” The
Archangel would silently come upon it one day as it slumbered under the
shade of some spreading tree and snatch away its innocent soul while
the mother was toiling in the field to gain her daily bread and put by
something for those left behind. “Happy they!” she went on, while hot
tears ran down her cheeks. “Let the little souls depart in peace, and
await in heaven the souls of their unfortunate mothers whom God and
man seem to have abandoned to cruel adversity, heart-rending sorrows,
distress, and despair.” I was deeply affected by this genuine outburst of
grief, and did all in my power to console her.
_Du sublime au ridicule il n’y a qu’un pas!_ Next morning, on a tour I
made round the village, I stepped into a cottage that teemed with little
children, and here I unexpectedly met with my second heroine, who,
although a Spartan in body, was not specially vigorous as to mind. My
other Bulgarian _bulka_ was a fat, jolly little woman verging towards
middle age, the mother of ten children, most of whom had come by twins in
rapid succession. The two youngest, born the day before, were just now
reposing in kneading-troughs, violently rocked by their elder sisters,
while the mother, surrounded by this happy family, was occupied in
kneading bread.
As she saw me come in she advanced and welcomed me with the usual
salutation. I questioned her about her children, and how she managed to
bring up and feed such a number, often having the care of two infants
at a time. “Oh,” said she, “it is no trouble. I and my cow, being two,
manage between us to set the little mites on their legs. Yesterday, two
hours after the arrival of my two children,” pointing to the troughs, “my
cow poked her head in at the door lowing for me and for her calf. What
could I do? I got up and milked her as usual, and sent her to her young
one, while I fed my numerous family with her milk. We peasants who till
the ground have not much time to think about ourselves or to give to
our children, who cannot begin too early to accustom themselves to the
hardships that await them through life. When the troubles of maternity
are greater than usual, the oldest shepherd of the village is called in
and performs for us the services of a doctor, and when any one among us
is ailing, frictions and aromatic potions will cure him.”