and they bring ivory, spices, and precious stones in return. The culture
of silk is carried on to an enormous extent, and the figs are of an
immense size. We watched, the day after our arrival, the loading of the
camels for the desert. Some looked well, others as though they would not
reach the end of the journey. Smyrna is the rendezvous of every eastern
merchant. The Armenians being good linguists, they conduct the bulk of
the business for the Turks, and are tutors in wealthy households.
The Angora goats and the Asiatic sheep--with tremendous tails, weighing
ten and fifteen pounds--flourish here in great numbers. We drove to the
Church of St. John some miles away. The scenery was truly magnificent,
and we felt that Turkey possessed the garden of the gods. We passed
pretty villas, buried in a wealth of magnolia trees, but the cypress
trees predominate, and the mulberry is very plentiful. We visited the
church, but were very much disappointed, the pictures being very tawdry
and common.
We also visited the ruins at Ephesus, to which we went by a slow train.
Frequent earthquakes have laid everything in magnificent ruin--remains
of ampitheatres, temples, aqueducts, are all levelled to the ground.
Most of the houses are built of wood which give in seismic shocks, but
the facades are of marble.
The Hamals are wonderfully strong, short but active men, and carry
immense loads upon their backs, the veins in their legs looking like
ropes. These are all Armenians and are trained from infancy.
We visited the Bazaar and the Turkish quarter, but were glad to escape
the dust and the quaint species of humanity.
* * * * *
It may not be uninteresting reading now that the papers are filled with
news of the war between the allies and Turkey, if I recall one of the
pleasantest and most exciting days I ever spent during my sojourn in the
Ottoman Empire. I would first of all remark, that Turkey occupies the
most beautiful portion of Europe. The soil, being so volcanic, produces
a wealth of luxurious fruits, especially grapes and figs; but the
Turkish Government, as well as the Turks themselves, being naturally
indolent, never think of cultivating the soil as they might. Therefore,
there is more poverty among them, through their laxity, than wealth.
The part of Turkey in which I happened to have recently arrived was the
lovely island of Lesbos, the birthplace of Sappho, and with very mixed
feelings have I stood on the very spot on the road to Polyknito, where
that impulsive maid so long ago threw herself from that Leucadian steep
into the blue waters beneath. Of recent years, a young lady I knew,
threw herself from the same spot and perished--a victim of unrequited
love.
Well, two or three Greek girl friends and myself made up our minds to
have a real good day’s outing, so, packing our luncheon baskets, we were
off before sunrise, as, living some distance from the town of Mitylene,
we had a long walk in front of us. We started in high spirits, and were
nearing the town when I heard what, to my unsophisticated ears, was a
most peculiar awe-inspiring sound. I found it was produced by the Hozahs
at sunrise, calling from the minarets of the mosques, the faithful to
prayer. And Turks they may be, but, they shame us by their devotions,
which all the jeers in the world would never prevent.
We toiled along up the hill towards the Konah, the kiosk, being near by
the Governor’s residence, and at the top we stood admiring the sunrise
over the hills of Anatolia, in Asia Minor; and the view right along to
the heights of Smyrna in the distance was superb. Every inch of this
part of eastern Europe is teeming with historical interest. We walked
along past the Turkish graveyard, the tombs of which are all surmounted
with turbans beautifully sculptured, giving in the dusk a most weird
appearance, as though human beings stood there on guard.
At length we arrived at the Loutra, as it is called. The thermal water
is conducted underground from the hot springs. We entered a small garden
enclosed by a wall; then we were ushered into a room containing dozens
of small cupboard-like compartments, scrupulously clean. Our entrance
fee was five piasters, or tenpence in English money. We were each
supplied with clean towels. Then I, at least, went timorously towards
the apartment where the first portion of our ablutions were to be
carried out. An attendant came forward to receive us. The first
apartment was very warm, and we remained there until the perspiration
began to trickle down on to our towels which we secured round our
waists. Then came the ordeal.
On entering the “chamber of horrors” (I thought at first) I could
scarcely breathe, the air was so hot, and then I noticed that the floor
in this dome-shaped chamber sloped towards the middle. Suddenly several
taps were turned on, gently at first, and the attendant smeared us all
over the top part of our bodies with Fuller’s earth, after which, the
taps were turned on full speed, and we raced round that room while the
attendants pursued us, and smacked us soundly in turn. We slid around on
the marble floor, but kept losing our footing. Our faces were scarlet,
and oh! the dirt that came from the pores of our skin. And we had
thought we were clean! Well, the smacking process went on; the water
seemed hotter than ever, and at last we were allowed into the cooler
chamber, as we were feeling exhausted. The attendant was a Turkish
woman, but spoke Greek sufficiently to make herself understood. I have
often thought since she was an unusually active person for a Turkish
woman.
Then we went back to the dressing rooms again, and after we had rested
on one of the numerous divans for half-an-hour, we went into the garden
and eat our dejeuner with gusto, we were so hungry and so delightfully
tired; and we chatted and watched the groups of well-to-do people
enjoying themselves--the Turkish children, in particular, with dozens
upon dozens of small plaits adorning their heads, which are often not
undone for months.
At 4 o’clock small cups of muddy, but delicious mocha were brought us,
and then we regretfully departed for our tramp home after a very
pleasant day, almost too fatigued to talk. So ended my first day in a
Turkish bath, for it needs the whole day to recuperate after the trying
but pleasing experience.
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THE PORTS OF PALESTINE.
One morning we were waiting, luggage packed ready, to embark on the
Russian liner for all Palestine Ports. We were in a state of suppressed
excitement at the alluring prospects in store for us, the historical
places, and scenic loveliness of which we had heard, making us long to
start. After some hours the belated vessel hove in sight, an immense
grey object, capable of carrying in comfort eight or nine hundred
passengers. Having previously secured our ticket, we immediately hired a
caique, after much altercation about the fare, and were speedily
conveyed to the vessel, which was making only a short stay. Arrived on
board, we were conducted by a gorgeously dressed official to our cabin,
and delivered to the tender mercies of the stewardess, a French woman.
We went on deck to explore, and until we started people were rushing
about talking in a dozen different languages. At last we were off, and
we took our final farewell of Smyrna, that peerless city of the East,
set in the beautiful background of opaline-tinted clouds, merging into
crimson departing glory of day; and at last, as the pall of night fell,
we went into the saloon--which was filled with the usual brilliant
company of tourists--to dine. After dinner, tea, instead of coffee, was
served in long fragile glasses, a thin slice of lemon floating on top,
and a serviette to prevent the fingers being burned. Of pale amber
colour this tea was delicious, the flavour exquisitely preserved. The
tea is imported overland, the sea voyage destroying the flavour more or
less.
We again went on deck and, glancing beneath us on the lower deck, we saw
long rows of reclining figures in white, like so many mummies, with one
or two sitting up talking volubly and gesticulating. They were Turks and
Arabs bound for Bagdad and Mecca. There were long-bearded Greek priests,
Armenians, Italians, and Russians, all en route to Jerusalem or
Damascus, the majority for Jerusalem. They would return as Hadjes, a
title which is borne by those who have visited the Holy Sepulchre.
We were up very early to see the first beams of Aurora, and we were well
rewarded, earth and sea combining to make one feel how beautiful it is
to live. The mysterious beauty of the misty mitre-peaked hills on the
land side of us, rosy in the gilded dawn, filled our minds with
imagination. On the other side, gleaming like the facets of an emerald,
lay Samos, noted for its vintage, its figs and oil, the dark olive
mounts, showing against the tender foliage of orange and lemon groves.
On we went until we came to Rhodes, with its great harbour, once famed
for its colossus erected to Apollo, but long since levelled to the
ground by seismic agencies. It must have appeared like a mighty janitor
watching down the centuries, worshipped as a deity by the wonderful race
who lived there.
We chummed with five young Russian ladies, who, with their chaperon,
were journeying to the Holy Sepulchre, and we were shown the presents of
silver and crosses which they were to lay on the shrine. We extracted
much pleasure from their company, and we would not like to disclose how
many cups of tea we consumed from the ever-boiling samovar, which these
ladies dispensed every time they could induce us to visit the cabin de
luxe reserved for their special use. They will always hold a place in
our memory.
On leaving Rhodes, we steamed away from the coast and we turned in
towards Cyprus, passing the Gulf of Adalia. The Island of Cyprus is
noted for its ancient copper mines, its magnificent temples, statues to
the deities, and frescoes covered with the dust of centuries. From there
we made for the mainland, remaining at the small town of Alexandretta
but a few hours. Everything was extremely Oriental. We saw a number of
Mohammaden women, attended by an eunuch, walking along, their yasmaks
now and again lowered, and a pair of laughing young eyes disclosed. How
the dark eyes, some very dreamy looking, of these wise children of the
East (some of them the Bedouin Arabs, the descendants of Ishmael) have
been, century after century, centred on these Eastern nights of
splendour, watching the heavens--wiser than we in things pertaining to
nature.
We next come to Tripoli, with its long-robed bearded priests and sheiks,
and veiled women, and the dogs, those scavengers of the east, the
bazaars, and beautiful foliage.
When we came to Beyrout there was a great stir, so many persons
disembarking, some for Beyrout, but more bent for Damascus, beyond the
Mountain of Lebanon, and some crossing the Syrian deserts for Bagdad. We
bought some immense bunches of pink, blue and white double violets which
came from Sharon.
Damascus, the oldest city in the world, is famed chiefly for its finely
wrought steel instruments in the shape of swords, daggers, knives,
stilettos, some of them magnificent specimens of artistic skill, and
often encrusted with jewels of great value.
After leaving Beyrout the weather began to get very stormy, the waves
grew mountainous, and soon we were in the throes of a great gale. Just
about here we were told the currents are very dangerous, and very fierce
storms rage at times. We were ordered below, and we could hear glass and
crockery breaking at intervals--during a lull of the tempest.
When morning broke we were some miles from Joppa or Jaffa, as it is
called to-day. As we slowly neared the port, rolling heavily, we saw
that ancient city built on a rock rising sheer out of the water, with
practically no harbour, and in that great gale, swarms of caiques manned
by dexterous men of divers nationalities coming towards us--one moment
lost in the waves, the next high up on the crest of another. It was of
no use, we could not cast anchor, and were doomed to disappointment, for
had we not dreamed of traversing that long, white, chalky road which
some forty miles away shows the Zion of the elect. And our Russian
ladies were greatly excited at having to wait until the return voyage to
descend and attain their heart’s desire--to say that they had seen
Gethsemane, Calvary, and all the places which must, in these modern
times, have lost (except the Holy Sepulchre) much of the beauty depicted
in holy writ.
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THE IVORY TEMPLE.
FOR AUSTRALIAN WOMEN.
No matter to what status of society we belong we nearly all have little
idiosyncrasies, little mannerisms, and, in the majority of cases, they
are caused by self-consciousness. Many great speakers, at times, show it
in a marked degree. Actresses, too, suffer from it, not to mention
singers; but in the latter cases it is termed stage fright. And it is
not vanity, it is hyper-sensitiveness; it is not unpardonable, but is
often adversely criticised.
And how often are we prone to criticise our friends in their absence;
when they are not present to refute any unkind thing said of them,
merely because they are misunderstood. The things said may be very
trivial, and a look or an innuendo will ban more than words. How often
are long and valued friendships broken through these things, or rather
these habits of running each other down!
We wear the mask of what we call good-breeding, which makes us unnatural
to the detriment of our real selves. We murmur conventional phrases with
our lips, give a frozen smile: shake hands in the fashion of the moment
and pass on, thinking we have done our duty to society. And yet some of
us would give worlds for an earnest sympathetic pressure of the hand,
creating a bond of good feeling which is of the greatest value and
cannot be too much prized. Do let us be natural and unaffected. It sits
badly on young or old to pretend to be what we are not. Our real selves
do not seem to be reflected in the mirror of life; we are hidden,
distorted, just as when one looks into a common mirror. Let us hope that
physical culture and plenty of outdoor exercise will make our coming
young Australian citizens, with their finely developed bodies, a
self-reliant, broad-minded and generous race. There is no need to be
mannish: and this rubbing up against each other will make speech less
acrimonious. We can be gay at work or pleasure in this exhilarating
climate; and we must be a little serious too sometimes.
We should be neither proud, pandish, nor too modish. We can be a
modification of prevailing fashions, leaving extreme modes to the very
rich. Madame la mode, you know, is an expensive jade; and never mind
Mrs. Grundy, or her prototypes. Do what your conscience dictates, and be
as refined as you can; and also as kind as you can, and think of
beautiful things. The effect is wonderful. It is like studying beautiful
pictures; it gives us higher ideals; it is like walking in a lovely
garden, inhaling the fragrance of the flowers or admiring a verdant
landscape. It affects both mind and body most agreeably.
The classical beauties of ancient times always placed the finest
statuary in the apartments in order to inspire a sense of the beautiful
in themselves and, in turn, to their children. Likewise beautiful
thoughts will reflect themselves in our eyes, which are the mirrors of
our mind, even though we may not all be visions of beauty from an
artistic standpoint. Cultivate our minds, and care for the beautiful
“ivory temple” we call our bodies--and we shall be happy.
THE LITTLE CHILDREN.
MAKING GOOD CITIZENS.
I wonder how many people in this world are proof against the charms of
little children. They may be small brothers and sisters of our own, the
children of our friends, or other people’s children; but we cannot fail
to love them. These darlings of the home, these small despots, claim old
and young as their vassals and worshippers. Tiny kings and queens they
in verity are, and their rule is truly autocratic. They are at once the
despair and the pride of their parents.
To hear that sweet “mummy and daddy,” inevitably the first words framed
by these adorable lispers, is to listen to the most melodious music. But
when we think of the many darlings--not the happy ones of our beautiful
Australia, but the unhappy little beings of the densely populated cities
of the older world--beaten, starved, neglected, born of women to whom
the real meaning of the sacred name of mother is unknown, it provides us
with food for reflection.
When Australia attains a population of many more millions it
will--unless, with advancing science, conditions of poverty are
ameliorated--be the same thing here. “The poor will be with us always,”
but we hope not the unkindness of ignorance.
Think of it! These children teeming with potentialities for good or evil
and it behoves us to think of it, though it pain us. We, in Australia
(with the exception of those who have travelled in Europe), know
nothing of the grinding poverty of parts of this planet designed by the
Creator to furnish us with abundance of all that is necessary for our
subsistence.
But I am digressing. There is no doubt that formerly children were
brought up too strictly. But nowadays it is the reverse. The children of
to-day are frequently asked what they would like; not told what they may
have. A child should be treated very gently, yet firmly. And above all
things never promise a child a certain thing and then break that
promise. If we could only realise the after-effects of a broken promise!
Children lose their beautiful faith for ever. They have marvellous
memories, and often they become our inquisitors.
These little entities have their rights, and we should endeavour to
answer, and not evade their questions. We must never crush the sap of
knowledge in their little minds. Then, how often has the troubled look
on a child’s face stopped a hasty word--and the child proved the
unconscious peacemaker?
Have any of you ever gazed with tear-dimmed eyes upon a little waxen
figure, robed in its last fairy whiteness, noted its angelic expression,
its beautiful immobility, and not felt the sublime majesty of death! How
near the infinite it has brought us! How kind we would be if we could
feel that pulse beating with life once again!
If Australia is to grow into a great nation we must advance with the
times, and train those tenderest of plants, “the souls of little
children,” and inculcate in them the heroic spirit of that older Greece
in this reincarnated new Greece of southern seas. First, must we teach
the marching army of intelligent women how to love so that--“a little
child shall lead them.”
MUSIC.
ITS MAGNETIC CHARM.
AUSTRALIA A MUSICAL COUNTRY.
What magnetic charm, and what wonderful effect has music upon human
beings--even upon persons who prefer to be indifferent to harmony. It
also has a marked influence upon animals and reptiles--as is well known.
Hence, the prancing of a well-bred horse at the sound of martial music,
especially if it bear a pronounced strain of Arab blood. The snake
charmers of India gain their livelihood by charming the reptiles from
their haunts. Dogs also display an intense dislike for some kinds of
music by whining dolorously. Cats and big domestic birds manifest the
same traits. But it is the ear of the “genus homo” which is the most
divinely sensitive to melody. Without possessing much special musical
ability, in classical music, we may follow the story without words. If
we are but the least little bit imaginative in the valse we may see the
grand ball-room, lovely faces of ladies, in powder and patches, courtly
men, beautiful and bizarre costumes, regal forms, flashing jewels,
coquettish glances, languid grace, the poetry of motion in the
magnificent figures--and mentally follow every phase of human emotion:
love, hope, sigh, remorse, jealousy, despair. All these are faithfully
depicted. Again, in dramatic music, without seeing the performers we
feel the revelation of pent-up passion, the force of accusative and
declamatory speech. How realistic it all is; and it appeals to our
deepest feelings, as we follow the vibrating notes, now raised in shrill
tones of invectives, or lowered to tense, nerve-straining anathemas, or
terror-stricken moans. And so breathlessly we follow the music,
sympathetically, or revolting at the intensity of love or hate in the
drama. Then the final death-scene brings us back to our normal selves.
But more tranquilly beautiful is the pastoral theme--each kind of music
has its own individuality. We imagine the sylvan scene, the sleek kine,
the woodland, the silver stream, the soft zephyrs, the rustic lover and
the maid, the cattle knee-deep in herbage. Then a stillness. Again the
wind stirs the leaves We can almost hear them falling. Then the patter
of rain-drops, and the rising of the tempest; and at last birds trilling
their lays--and then the sun shining through the clouds.
Again, the “Dead March in Saul” has a deep effect on us--that beautiful
march which now and again we hear in Brisbane streets, at some military
funeral. So sad. The riderless horse--the first notes so infinitely
pathetic. The place which has known us will soon know us no more for
ever, it seems to say, and makes the most callous of us sob. Then the
sublime triumphant notes ring out telling us that the soul has discarded
the veil of flesh, and has assumed its immortal garb. So does music
speak.
Italy was formerly producing nearly all the stars of great magnitude,
and now Australia, which is, by reason of climatical conditions,
naturally musical, is giving to the world many beautiful singers, some
of whom have added lustre to the Southern Cross. And note when a squad
of our defenders march at night from the barracks--how the pedestrians
quicken their steps in response to the inspiring music.
Vivacious music is necessary in this climate. It takes the gray colour
from our lives and elevates us by filling our ears with beautiful
sounds.
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MAN AND HIS DRESS.
Man may consider himself unfortunate in having to endure more pain than
pleasure during the natural term of his existence on this little planet
which mortals call earth.
But he cannot get away from the fact that he reigns supreme as the king
of animals, and the highest of all things yet created--a beautiful
casket of mind and matter, made in the likeness of his Maker. He is
endowed with the electric unquenchable spark of immortality which can
never die. He is half animal, half spiritual and emotional, with a love
for beauty, ever longing for protection with idealistic visions of to
what he may attain--one moment plunged into transport of joy and the
love of living; the next into a vortex of despair, impotent to combat
some unexpected blow of fate, yet withal, possessing the most marvellous
courage and capacity of endurance. And amidst the vast empire of the
animal world, he stands clothed with reasoning, power, and crowned with
the majesty of knowledge, of good and evil. He alone can, of all
animals, survey the infinitude of space.
We know that a great gulf divides man from the lower animals, and that
between civilised man and the savage of New Guinea there is a difference
of intelligence due to environment. But, nevertheless, the savage is a
noble man in the eyes of his Creator.