aunts at our arrival was vibrating with sincerity and emotion. The
dear, dear ladies were patting us and embracing us, their eyes full
of tears, with little sighs of delight and whispered prayers of
thanksgiving to the Almighty to have thus permitted our reunion under
their roof. They took us to the sitting-room where we all sat in a
circle, and a general conversation, in which my wife's Turkish had
to be helped by my cousin or by myself, started around. My aunts do
not speak English but this handicap of language did not prevent the
establishment of ties of love and devotion between them and my wife.
These bonds in fact developed in the course of time to such a degree
that to-day they are as strong as the ties of blood uniting my aunts
to me. They took to my wife immediately and wanted to know how she
liked Constantinople. Wasn't she missing her country and her sisters?
But now she had a new set of sisters and brothers. Their own children
would surround her with love and try to make her feel less the absence
of her sisters in America and they themselves were my wife's aunts. She
had become one with me by her marriage and how would we enjoy staying
with them in Erenkeuy? The life here was very quiet, a great change for
people coming from America.
A few minutes later my uncle came to join the family circle. We all got
up respectfully and stood until he sat in his favourite easy-chair. He
greeted us with warm words of welcome, in his quiet, unostentatious
way. Every one was conscious that the head of the family was now with
us, although there was no strain whatsoever. Just a note of deference,
that was all. Coffee was served. Then a maid brought us jam on a silver
platter and each one took a spoonful, drinking some water immediately
after. We exchanged news about the different members of the family and
about our friends, talked of the past and of our future plans. At tea
time we adjourned to the dining-room and had our tea Turkish fashion:
weak, with lemon and plenty of sugar. No toast is served but instead
bread and that wonderful white cheese which melts in the mouth. They
explained to us that during the war they drank the boiled extract of
roasted oats instead of tea or coffee.
After the ice was completely broken I had to call on my uncle and my
aunts to convince my wife that we were really in a “harem.” I must say
that they were very much amused. Of course this was a harem and no man
except the members of the family had ever passed its threshold in the
days gone by. But that did not mean that my uncle had ever had another
wife besides my aunt. They always had lived together ever since the
divorce of my second aunt, and my youngest aunt had also lived here
always with her husband. They suggested showing my wife the gardens of
the harem and we all wandered out together.
What a great difference ten or twelve years had made in these gardens!
The last time I had seen them--before my departure for America--their
alleys were carpeted with clean small pebbles, their trees were
trimmed, their well-kept flower beds and orchards were a pleasure
to the eyes, while the hot-house at the corner was filled with rare
tropical plants and fruit-trees. The whisper of running water flew
continuously from many fountains and in a small artificial lake a
miniature rowboat of polished mahogany lolled lazily in the shade of
branches hanging from the shores. It was a thriving garden, speaking
of ease and prosperity. But now! It looked as if it had been asleep
since the last few years. Gone are the pebbles in the alleys. Broken
are the window-panes of the deserted hot-house with its shelves covered
with dust and its cracked vases with dried stumps which were once the
trunks of tropical plants. Dead leaves rustle under your feet and
hush your steps. The trees have grown in a maze of unruly branches.
The rose beds of yesteryear have turned wild and now prickly bushes
bearing anemic flowers stoop to the ground, fighting for supremacy in
the flower garden. Shrubs of lilac, jasmine and honeysuckles--which
blossom here in the early fall as well as in spring--faintly scent the
air with their reminiscent perfume of past glory. The fountains are
silent and the little lake is dry--while the sad nakedness of its gray
cement marks the resting-place for the broken remains of what used to
be the shining little mahogany rowboat. The beautiful garden is now
the ghost of what it used to be. Its soul is alive--perhaps more so
than before--but pensive, sad, desolate. The greedy monster of war must
have reached as far as this peaceful estate in Erenkeuy, sucking its
vitality in its all-devastating tentacles.
How did it ever come about? My uncle and my aunt must have had some
reverses unknown to me, they would not carelessly let their property
deteriorate in this way if they could have helped it. The thought
worried me and I turned to my aunt for an explanation. With her
diminutive slippers crushing the dead leaves covering the ground, her
jet black hair covered with a delicately embroidered white veil, my
aunt was slowly walking on my right through the desolate alleys. Her
husband was next to her while my wife, with my cousins and my other
aunts walked ahead in the distance, fading gradually in the subtle
shadows of the desolate garden. My aunt explained. Her voice was
subdued but she was dispassionate, firm and resigned.
“We have tried to be too careful, my son,” she said, “and God has
taught us a lesson. Long before the war we had deposited all our
holdings with a British bank in London. We believed it would be safer
there than in any other place and we lived contented on the income it
brought us. It was nothing much but it represented with this place
all our savings and it was enough to allow us to live happily and to
take good care of our estate. The war came suddenly and our deposits
in the bank were seized by England. It was fair, all the nations did
the same and confiscated enemy properties within their reach. So we
bowed to the inevitable and passed the long years of war as best we
could. Your uncle took sick. He is just getting over an ailment which
forced him all this time to live in retirement. Nothing was coming in.
The family is large, the children had to be educated. We dismissed
all hired servants and sold our family jewels. At last the armistice
came and we hoped to get back what was ours. But years have passed and
years are passing. England has returned the properties of Armenians,
Greeks and Jews who are, like ourselves, Turkish citizens, on the
grounds that they were pro-Allies but she still refuses to give back
the private property of the Turks. No exception is made for those who,
like ourselves, were not in politics during the war and even for those
who, like your uncle, tried to dissuade the Government from entering
the war. Our only crime seems to be that we did not betray our country
during the war, that we could not be pro-Ally after our country had
entered the war! Well, what can we do? We still must be grateful to God
that we have a roof over our heads. Thousands of others are much worse
off. We can't take care of this property, but we have mortgaged it and
we live as best we can. God has helped us in the past, God will help us
in the future if we realize that no matter how careful we are we can't
foresee the future, we cannot avoid the decrees of Destiny.” I look
in silence at my aunt, there is no bitterness in her, but her finely
chiseled face is pensive. She is lost in retrospective thoughts. She
is visualizing her garden as it used to be, while her night-dark eyes
glance, unseeing, over her present surroundings. She walks slowly,
her slender body wrapped in the loose, flowing folds of an Arabian
“Meshlah” of silk, glittering with silver threads, which she had thrown
over her shoulders when she came out in the garden. She looks typically
Turkish. Her slightly aquiline nose gives a refined expression to her
proud, clean-cut features. She is small and thin, but her dignified
carriage gives the impression of power and self-confidence.
The Pasha, walks next to her, slightly bent by his recent illness.
However he is well on his way to complete recovery; his sprightly
step, his rosy cheeks, his keen bright eyes denote vigor and growing
strength. He caresses his small gray beard and smiles. He passes his
hand in his wife's arm and cheerfully says: “Hanoum, we should not
complain, we are better off now than we ever were, if our trials have
made us wiser. We know better the real value of things than we did
before. The Almighty has made me recover my health, we are all alive
and well. I am not so old yet, I can work. I will work, and you will
again help me as you did in the past. We will together rebuild our
home. It is for us to deserve the help of God. We must work for His
mercy.”
In the silence that followed new hopes were born in me. The undaunted
spirit of the Pasha faithfully reflects the feeling in the Turkey
and the Turks of to-day. This is the spirit that has brought them
through all their past trials, this is the spirit that has been taken
for fatalism, but which is nothing else than an indomitable blend of
resignation, confidence in one's self and confidence in the justice
of God. It will save Turkey and the Turks as it has saved them in the
past. They never have been despondent and they never will give up.
Calmly, without any show, without any complaint they always step back
into their normal lives, confident that the future will justify their
immovable trust in the justice of God.
We slowly return home in the silent twilight of the evening. It is
almost dinner time. The old fashioned Turkish families dine always
soon after sunset, no matter the season. Here in Erenkeuy the food
is supplied by a community kitchen to which most of the neighbours
are subscribers. It is distributed twice a day, so the food is always
freshly cooked, clean and wholesome. It is less costly and less
worrisome than to keep one's own kitchen and my surprise is great to
find such an efficient modern innovation in a little village at the
outskirts of Anatolia.
After dinner we sit around and talk some more. My cousin plays and
sings for us some old Turkish songs. Then we all retire, for the night,
the younger ones again kissing the hands of their elders. When we are
alone in our room, my wife tells me how much she has liked my aunts.
It must be mutual because there is a knock on our door and my aunt
enters. She comes to give my wife a pair of small diamond earrings as
a token of welcome under her roof. My aunt insists on her taking them.
They have no value of their own she says, but they have been in the
family for a very long time--my mother wore them when she was a child.
IV
MODERN TURKISH WOMEN
Our stay in Erenkeuy which had started under such pleasant auspices
continued in perfect harmony and developed additional ties between my
wife and her new Turkish relations. A most cordial friendship grew
between her and my cousin, the daughter of my second aunt. She had
been educated at the American College for Girls of Constantinople
and her education was therefore a most happy blend of the Orient and
the Occident. It opened an additional ground of common understanding
between the two girls who became rapidly inseparable friends. The
following winter when we were all in the city my cousin, my sister and
my wife formed a constant trio which broke up only when my sister left
Constantinople for extensive travel in Western Europe.
There was another Turkish girl in Erenkeuy who came often to call.
She was a school mate of my cousin and not only spoke perfect English
but wrote it perfectly too. Her ambition was to make English-speaking
people familiar with Turkish literature. This Turkish girl is very
active in the American colony of Constantinople.
She was then hoping to induce the American Relief Association to engage
in relief work for the needy Turks also. But I am afraid that she
found this task somewhat difficult. I have heard it said that while
it is comparatively easy to obtain financial support for Armenians
and Greeks, it is more difficult to obtain funds for the Turks. A
well-managed campaign following an energetic propaganda by which Turks
are represented as committing wholesale massacres and atrocities
against the Christian elements in the Near East is always sure to
bring substantial financial assistance for Armenians and Greeks and
incidentally to secure a longer lease of life to the jobs of all those
employed in Relief or Missionary work in Turkey. But how could money
be raised for the Turks? To create public sympathy for them in America
would necessitate the destruction of all the fables so elaborately
created by years of anti-Turkish propaganda. It is easier to follow
the lines of least resistance, to follow the beaten road by spreading
news of massacres and atrocities whenever funds are needed. The only
requirement in this case is to make a propaganda whose virulence is
in direct proportion to the reluctance of the public in subscribing
for new funds. Whenever the public seems to have lost interest or
seems to be acquiring a more accurate knowledge of the Greeks and
Armenians--whenever either of these conditions coincide with the need
of more funds--a spectacular report on new Turkish atrocities is
staged and the flow of money is stimulated. The tide runs Eastward,
but there it is carefully canalized into Greek and Armenian channels
alone. The money has been collected for them and must be distributed
exclusively to them. What difference does it make if hundreds of
thousands of Turks, old men, women and children rendered homeless by
the Greek invasion or by the repeated Armenian revolutions, are dying
from lack of clothes, lack of shelter, lack of food. The Turks are
human beings too, that is true, but they call God “Allah.” and it does
not sound the same!
The Turks are thrown exclusively on their own meagre resources for
relieving their own refugees, for helping their needy. I must say
that despite their extremely restricted means they achieve this
difficult task with unexpected efficiency. The work of relief is almost
exclusively in the hands of committees of Turkish women who work with
untiring abnegation. The president of one of these committees, Madame
Memdouh Bey, a cousin of my aunts', was quite a frequent visitor at
Erenkeuy and told us of how they are organized and how they work.
These committees are built upon such efficient business lines that
I feel I should describe them to some extent so as to give an idea
of the administrative and organizing capacities of modern Turkish
women. Each relief association specializes in a given activity. One
takes care of refugees, another of the needy orphans, a third one of
the Red Crescent--which is the Turkish Red Cross--and so forth. Each
Association is divided into Committees, every one of which is assigned
to one district and is an autonomous unit with a president and also a
secretary managing its executive work. These committees are divided
into sub-committees: one in charge of collections, one responsible for
distributions and one to organize and conduct productive work. The
ladies in charge of collecting continuously canvass their districts and
classify all donations--be they money or wearing apparel. They organize
tag days, garden parties, concerts, etc., to secure any additional
supplies and funds possible.
My wife participated in several of these tag days but on such occasions
she had to don the “charshaf” so as not to be conspicuously the
only foreigner among the Turkish ladies. On these days the streets
of Stamboul are full of groups of Turkish ladies, young girls and
children, a red ribbon pinned on their breasts with the name of the
Association they are collecting for written on it, smilingly offering
their tags to the public. They bother the foreigners very little and
solicit charity only from the Turks. The ladies who have shouldered
the responsibility of distributing the charity thus collected canvass
thoroughly their respective district, to find the refugees or the
needy who deserve the most urgent attention, determine systematically
their needs and supply them with the help they require. Any funds that
remain available to the Committee after such distribution are then
turned over to the sub-committee in charge of organizing and conducting
productive work. Here all needy women and girls who can earn their
living are brought together and given work in dressmaking or embroidery
establishments which are under the direct management of the ladies
of this sub-committee. The men are similarly given work in furniture
making or carpentry establishments. Men, women and children thus
employed are of course paid for their work, their products are sold and
the profits realized on them are again placed at the disposal of the
Committee.
Turkish ladies also run orphan asylums where little boys and little
girls who have lost both father and mother in the turmoil of the
different wars or in the forced evacuation of their homesteads before
the Greek or Armenian irredentists, are taken care of and educated.
When the little girls have reached the age of fifteen they are given
into families where they work--under the continuous supervision of the
Committee for orphans. The ladies of this committee keep a vigilant and
motherly watch over the welfare of these girls. Once a month the girls
are subjected to a medical examination to determine if their health is
properly taken care of. Once a month some lady of the Committee makes
an unexpected call in every house where any of these orphan girls are
working to ascertain how they are treated, what work they are doing,
and if they are satisfied with their employers. She has also the
privilege--which she often takes advantage of--using her savings as a
dowry to start married life.
Needless to say that the ladies engaged in this relief work are all
volunteers. They belong mostly to the upper classes and devote all
their time and energy to the charities they have undertaken. We have
seen them at work time and again and their devotion and abnegation is
beyond praise. I think that the most active of these ladies--at least
those who are most in the public eye because of the executive positions
they hold in the Committees--are Madame Memdouh Bey, Madame Ismail
Djenani Bey, Madame Edhem Bey and Madame Houloussi Bey. But there are
hundreds and thousands of others whose work, while not as prominent,
is none the less efficient, silent little women with hearts of gold
devoting their life to some work of charity and mercy.
In the shadows of the old garden at Erenkeuy, my aunts were incessantly
engaged in bringing their contribution to this general work of relief.
They would sit in a circle under some big trees and be busy one day
sewing garments for refugees, another day packing medicines for the
Red Crescent, or knitting socks, sweaters or gloves for the soldiers
of the Nationalist Armies. They would remain at work for hours at a
time, day in and day out, in their quiet, unostentatious ways making
a most touching picture: a group incessantly engaged in humanitarian
work--the elder aunt, poised and refined, directing the work of all and
participating in it with all her untiring activity--the second aunt,
emaciated by years of domestic troubles caused by the kaleidoscopic
political changes and wars of Turkey, but still cheerful and
hopeful--the youngest aunt, as sweet as a Madonna and as resigned as
one--cutting, sewing or packing with the help of their children.
I confess that I was not a little surprised by this continuous activity
in which all Turkish women, without distinction of class, took a
feverish part. It is true that even before I left Constantinople women
were already much more emancipated than they generally were given
credit for being by foreigners--it is true that I was hoping to find
them at my return well on the road to full emancipation. But frankly
I was not prepared for the long stride they had made during these
few years. I was especially not prepared to see them so competent
in public organization and so businesslike in the conduct of actual
productive work. I expected to find them rather inefficient in the new
fields opened to them for the first time after so many generations of
seclusion.
I said this frankly to my aunt, one Friday afternoon, on the eve of
our departure from Erenkeuy. We were enjoying the ever attractive
sunset from the terraces of a public garden on the shores of the
Sea of Marmora. At a distance and blurred by the purple haze of the
horizon, Prinkipo and the other islands were reflecting their dark
green hills in the opalescent sea where glimmered the dancing lights
of an orange-coloured sun. Gentle waves were breaking in cadence over
the rocks at our feet. Around us other Turkish families were sitting
at wooden tables in small groups. We had just finished sipping our
coffees. The general relaxation preceding all oriental sunsets was
gradually creeping over nature together with the lavendar shadows of
the coming twilight. My aunts had been working hard that day, and I
told them how much I admired them and all their Turkish sisters for
their indefatigable activities, for their efficiency in works they had
not participated in for generations.
My aunt looked at me. Then she laughed in her musical and contagious
manner: “You talk like a foreigner, my son,” she said. “Whenever
foreigners talk of the new emancipation of Turkish women, they express
their surprise at our efficiency.”
I explained to my aunt what I meant--I said: “Our women have been kept
for so many generations out of all activities, their attention has
been consecrated for so many centuries exclusively on their homes and
families and they have so recently acquired their freedom, that I
can not help being surprised to find them turning their freedom into
really productive channels and to see how capable they are in their new
pursuits.”