A TURKISH WOMAN’S EUROPEAN IMPRESSIONS
[Illustration: ZEYNEB IN HER PARIS DRAWING-ROOM
She is wearing the Yashmak and Feradjé, or cloak.]
A TURKISH WOMAN’S
EUROPEAN IMPRESSIONS
BY
ZEYNEB HANOUM
(HEROINE OF PIERRE LOTI’S NOVEL
“LES DÉSENCHANTÉES”)
EDITED & WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
GRACE ELLISON
WITH 23 ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS & A DRAWING BY
AUGUSTE RODIN
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
LONDON: SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LTD.
1913
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. A DASH FOR FREEDOM 21
II. ZEYNEB’S GIRLHOOD 31
III. BEWILDERING EUROPE 47
IV. SCULPTURE’S FORBIDDEN JOY 57
V. THE ALPS AND ARTIFICIALITY 63
VI. FREEDOM’S DOUBTFUL ENCHANTMENT 73
VII. GOOD-BYE TO YOUTH—TAKING THE
VEIL 83
VIII. A MISFIT EDUCATION 93
IX. “SMART WOMEN” THROUGH THE
VEIL 105
X. THE TRUE DEMOCRACY 111
XI. A COUNTRY PICTURE 125
XII. THE STAR FROM THE WEST—THE EMPRESS
EUGÉNIE 131
XIII. TURKISH HOSPITALITY—A REVOLUTION
FOR CHILDREN 137
XIV. A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 145
XV. DREAMS AND REALITIES 153
XVI. THE MOON OF RAMAZAN 169
XVII. AND IS THIS REALLY FREEDOM? 179
XVIII. THE CLASH OF CREEDS 201
XIX. IN THE ENEMY’S LAND 217
XX. THE END OF THE DREAM 233
ILLUSTRATIONS
Zeyneb in her Paris Drawing-room _Frontispiece_
A Turkish Child with a Slave _To face page_ 34
A Turkish House ” 34
“Les Désenchantées” (_by_ M. Rodin) ” 60
A Turkish Dancer ” 70
A Turkish Lady dressed as a Greek
Dancer ” 70
Turkish Lady in Tcharchoff (outdoor
costume) ” 88
Silent Gossip of a Group of Turkish
Women ” 102
Turkish Ladies in their Garden with
their Children’s Governesses ” 102
Yashmak and Mantle ” 134
Melek in Yashmak ” 140
Zeyneb in her Western Drawing-room ” 160
Turkish Ladies paying a Visit ” 172
Zeyneb with a black Face-veil thrown
back ” 184
A Corner of a Turkish Harem of to-day ” 192
Turkish Women and Children in the
Country ” 192
The Balcony at the Back of Zeyneb’s
House ” 206
Zeyneb and Melek ” 206
The Drawing-room of a Harem showing
the Bridal Throne ” 214
A Corner of the Harem ” 214
A Caïque on the Bosphorus ” 222
Turkish Women in the Country ” 222
Melek on the Verandah at Fontainebleau ” 228
INTRODUCTION
In the preface of his famous novel, _Les Désenchantées_, M. Pierre Loti
writes: “This novel is pure fiction; those who take the trouble to find
real names for Zeyneb, Melek, or André will be wasting their energy,
for they never existed.”
These words were written to protect the two women, Zeyneb and Melek,
who were mainly responsible for the information contained in that book,
from the possibility of having to endure the terror of the Hamidian
régime as a consequence of their indiscretion. This precaution was
unnecessary, however, seeing that the two heroines, understanding the
impossibility of escaping the Hamidian vigilance, had fled to Europe,
at great peril to their lives, before even the novel appeared.
Although it is not unusual to find Turkish women who can speak fluently
two or three European languages (and this was very striking to me when
I stayed in a Turkish harem), and although M. Loti has in his novel
taken the precaution to let Melek die, yet it would still have been an
easy task to discover the identity of the two heroines of his book.
Granddaughters of a Frenchman who for _les beaux yeux_ of a Circassian
became a Turk and embraced Mahometanism, they had been signalled out
from amongst the enlightened women who are a danger to the State, and
were carefully watched.
For a long time many cultured Turkish women had met to discuss what
could be done for the betterment of their social status; and when it
was finally decided to make an appeal to the sympathy of the world in
the form of a novel, who better than Pierre Loti, with his magic pen
and keen appreciation of Turkish life, could be found to plead the
cause of the women of what he calls his “second fatherland”?
In one of my letters written to Zeyneb from Constantinople, I hinted
that the Young Turks met in a disused cistern to discuss the Revolution
which led Europe to expect great things of them. The women, too, met in
strange places to plot and plan—they were full of energetic intentions,
but, with the Turkish woman’s difficulty of bringing thought into
action, they did little more than plot and plan, and but for Zeyneb
and Melek, _Les Désenchantées_ would never have been written.
At the conclusion of his preface, M. Loti says: “What is true in
my story is the culture allowed to Turkish women and the suffering
which must necessarily follow. This suffering, which to my foreign
eyes appeared perhaps more intense, is also giving anxiety to my dear
friends the Turks themselves, and they would like to alleviate it.
The remedy for this evil I do not claim to have discovered, since the
greatest thinkers of the East are still diligently working to find it.”
Like M. Loti I, too, own my inability to come any nearer a solution
of this problem. I, who through the veil have studied the aimless,
unhealthy existences of these pampered women, am nevertheless convinced
that the civilisation of Western Europe for Turkish women is a case
of exchanging the frying-pan for the fire. Zeyneb in her letters to
me, written between 1906-1912, shows that, if her disenchantment with
her harem existence was bitter, she could never appreciate our Western
civilisation.
Turkish women are clamouring for a more solid education and freedom.
They would cast aside the hated veil; progress demands they should—but
do they know for what they are asking?
“Be warned by us, you Turkish women,” I said to them, painting the
consequences of our freedom in its blackest colours, “and do not pull
up your anchor till you can safely steer your ship. My own countrymen
have become too callous to the bitter struggles of women; civilisation
was never meant to be run on these lines, therefore hold fast to the
protection of your harems till you can stand alone.”
Since my return to London, I have sometimes spoken on Turkish life,
and have been asked those very naïve questions which wounded the pride
of Zeyneb Hanoum. When I said I had actually stayed in an harem, I
could see the male portion of my audience, as it were, passing round
the wink. “You must not put the word ‘harem’ on the title of your
lecture,” said the secretary of a certain society. “Many who might come
to hear you would stay away for fear of hearing improper revelations,
and others would come hoping to hear those revelations and go away
disappointed.”
In one of her letters to me, Zeyneb complains that the right kind of
governess is not sent to Constantinople. The wonder to me is, when
one hears what a harem is supposed to be, that European women have the
courage to go there at all.
The word harem comes from the Arabic “Maharem,” which means “sacred or
forbidden,” and no Oriental word has been more misunderstood. It does
not mean a collection of wives; it is simply applied to those rooms in
a Turkish house exclusively reserved for the use of the women. Only a
blood relation may come there to visit the lady of the house, and in
many cases even cousins are not admitted. There is as much sense in
asking an Englishman if he has a boudoir as in asking a Turk if he has
a harem; and to think that when I stayed in Turkey, our afternoon’s
impropriety consisted of looking through the latticed windows! The
first Bey who passed was to be for me, the second for Fathma, and the
third for Selma; this was one of our favourite games in the harem. One
day I remember in the country we waited an hour for my Bey to pass, and
after all he was not a Bey, but a fat old man carrying water.
The time has not yet come for the Turkish woman to vindicate her right
to freedom; it cannot come by a mere change of law, and it is a cruelty
on the part of Europeans to encourage them to adopt Western habits
which are a part of a general system derived from a totally different
process of evolution.
In the development of modern Turkey, the Turkish woman has already
played a great part, and she has a great part still to play in the
creation of a new civilisation; but present experience has shown that
no servile imitation of the West will redeem Turkey from the evils of
centuries of patriarchal servitude.
* * * * *
By a strange irony of fate, it was at Fontainebleau that I first
made the acquaintance of Pierre Loti’s heroines. To me every inch of
Fontainebleau was instinct with memories of happiness and liberty.
It was here that Francis I. practised a magnificence which dazzled
Europe; here, too, is the wonderful wide forest of trees which are
still there to listen to the same old story.... From a Turkish harem to
Fontainebleau. What a change indeed!
The two sisters were sitting on the verandah of their villa when I
arrived. Zeyneb had been at death’s door; she looked as if she were
there still.
“Why did you not come to lunch?” asked Melek.
“I was not invited,” I answered.
“Well, you might have come all the same.”
“Is that the custom in Turkey?”
“Why, of course, when you are invited to lunch you can come to
breakfast instead, or the meal after, or not at all. Whenever our
guests arrive, it is we who are under obligations to them for coming.”
“What a comforting civilisation; I am sure I should love to be in
Turkey.”
I wanted to ask indiscreet questions.
“Have you large trees in Turkey with hollows big enough to seat two
persons?” I began.
Melek saw through the trick at once.
“Ah!” she answered, “now you are treading on dangerous ground; next
time you come to see us we shall speak about these things. In the
meanwhile learn that the charming side of life to which you have
referred, and about which we have read so much in English novels, does
not exist for us Turkish women. Nothing in our life can be compared
to yours, and in a short time you will see this. We have no right to
vary ever so little the programme arranged for us by the customs of our
country; an adventure of any kind generally ends in disaster. As you
may know, we women never see our husbands till we are married, and an
unhappy marriage is none the less awful to bear when it is the work of
some one else.”
“Do tell me more,” I persisted.
“The marriage of a Turkish woman is an intensely interesting subject to
anyone but a Turkish woman....”
* * * * *
I left my new friends with reluctance, but after that visit began the
correspondence which forms the subject matter of this book.
GRACE ELLISON.
A TURKISH WOMAN’S EUROPEAN IMPRESSIONS
CHAPTER I
A DASH FOR FREEDOM
A few days after my visit to the Désenchantées at Fontainebleau, which
is described in the Introduction, I received the following letter from
Zeyneb:
FONTAINEBLEAU, _Sept._ 1906.
You will never know, my dear and latest friend, the pleasure your visit
has given us. It was such a new experience, and all the more to be
appreciated, because we were firmly convinced we had come to the end of
new experiences.
For almost a quarter of a century, in our dear Turkey, we longed above
all for something new; we would have welcomed death even as a change,
but everything, everything was always the same.
And now, in the space of eight short months, what have we not seen and
done! Every day has brought some new impressions, new faces, new joys,
new difficulties, new disappointments, new surprises and new friends;
it seemed to both of us that we must have drunk the cup of novelty to
its very dregs.
On Sunday, after you had left us, we talked for a long time of you and
the many subjects we had discussed together.
Sympathy and interest so rarely go hand in hand—interest engenders
curiosity, sympathy produces many chords in the key of affection, but
the sympathetic interest you felt for us has given birth on our side to
a sincere friendship, which I know will stand the test of time.
We felt a few minutes after you had been with us, how great was your
comprehension, not only of our actions, but of all the private reasons,
alas! so tragic, which made them necessary. You understood so much
without our having to speak, and you guessed a great deal of what could
not be put into words. That is what a Turkish woman appreciates more
than anything else.
We, who are not even credited with the possession of a soul, yet guard
our souls as our most priceless treasures. Those who try to force our
confidence in any way, we never forgive. Between friend and friend
the highest form of sympathy is silence. For hours we Turkish women
sit and commune with one another without speaking. You would, I know,
understand this beautiful side of our life.
Since our departure from our own country, and during these few months
we have been in France, from all sides we have received kindness. We
were ready to face yet once more unjust criticism, blame, scandal
even; but instead, ever since we left Belgrade till we arrived here,
everything has been quite the opposite. All the European papers have
judged us impartially, some have even defended and praised us, but not
one censured us for doing with our lives what it pleased us.
But in Turkey what a difference! No Constantinople paper spoke of our
flight. They were clever enough to know that by giving vent to any
ill-feeling, saying what they really thought of our “disgraceful”
conduct, they would draw still more attention to the women’s cause; so
we were left by the Press of our country severely alone.
The Sultan Hamid, who interested himself a little too much in our
welfare, became very anxious about us. Having left no stone unturned
to force us to return (he had us arrested in the middle of the night
on our arrival at Belgrade on the plea that my sister was a minor, and
that both of us had been tricked away by an elderly lady for illicit
purposes) he next ordered that all those European papers in which we
were mentioned should be sent to him. As our flight drew forth bitter
criticism of his autocratic government, he must, had he really taken
the trouble to read about us, have found some very uncomfortable truths
about himself. But that was no new régime. For years he has fed himself
on these indigestible viands, and his mechanism is used to them by now.
I need not tell you that in Constantinople, for weeks, these forbidden
papers were sold at a high price. Regardless of the risk they were
running, everyone wanted to have news of the two women who had had
the audacity to escape from their homes and the tyranny of the Sultan
Hamid. In the harems, we were the one topic of conversation. At first
no one seemed to grasp the fact that we had actually gone, but when at
last the truth slowly dawned upon them, the men naturally had not a
kind word to say of us, and we did not expect it would be otherwise.
But the women, alas! Many were obliged officially to disapprove of our
action. There were a few, however, who had the courage to defend us
openly; they have our deepest and sincerest gratitude. But do not think
for a moment that we blame or feel unkindly towards the others. Have
not we, like them, had all our lives to suffer and fear and pretend
as captives always must do? Could they be expected to find in one day
the strength of character to defend a cause however just, and not only
just, but _their own_—their freedom.
Yes, my friend, we ourselves have lived that life of constant fear and
dissimulation, of hopes continually shattered, and revolt we dared not
put into words.
Yet never did the thought occur to us that we might adapt ourselves to
this existence we were forced to lead. We spent our life in striving
for one thing only—the means of changing it.
Could we, like the women of the West, we thought, devote our leisure to
working for the poor, that would at least be some amusement to break
the monotony. We also arranged to meet and discuss with intelligent
women the question of organising charity, but the Sultan came down
upon us with a heavy hand. He saw the danger of allowing thinking women
to meet and talk together, and the only result of this experiment was
that the number of spies set to watch the houses of “dangerous women”
was doubled.
Then it was that we made up our minds, after continual failure, that
as long as we remained in our country under the degrading supervision
of the Hamidian régime, we could do nothing, however insignificant, to
help forward the cause of freedom for women.
I need not tell you again all the story of our escape; it is like
a nightmare to me still, and every detail of that horrible journey
will remain clearly fixed in my mind until death. Shall I tell you
all that has happened to us since? But so much has been said about us
by all sorts and conditions of men and women, that you will no doubt
have already had an overdose. Yet I thought I understood, from the
sympathetic interest you showed us the other afternoon, that there was
much you would still like to hear. Have I guessed rightly? Then there
is nothing you shall not know.—Your affectionate
ZEYNEB.
What a long and interesting letter! and from a Turkish woman too!
Several times I read and re-read it, then I felt that I could not give
my new friend a better proof of the pleasure that it had given me, than
by writing her at once to beg for more. But I waited till the next day,
and finally sent a telegram—“Please send another letter.”