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