pointing out the outstanding places of the landscape to my wife. From
where we are the Bosphorus looks like a lake, the sinuous curves at the
two ends making it impossible to distinguish where Europe ends and Asia
begins. There, on our extreme left and near the water, is the country
estate of Khedive Ismail Pasha, father of the last Khedive of Egypt
who was dethroned by England during the war because of his pro-Turkish
sentiments. Ismail Pasha's estate is in Europe but the hills which
seem next to it are on the other side, in Asia, and the funny looking
buildings on top as well as the low buildings on the shore are the
depots of the Standard Oil Company. They used to belong to an uncle
of Madame Ismet Bey but now they belong to the Standard Oil. No, her
uncle has not sold his rights: it just happened that the Standard Oil
stepped in before he had time to have them renewed. His house, or what
used to be his house is the one just opposite us. He used to have the
most beautiful caiks in the Bosphorus, ten or fifteen years ago, and
his wife and his daughters would go every Friday to the Sweet Waters
of Asia in those long, slim racing barks, with tapering ends, rowed
by three or sometimes four boatmen with flowing sleeves, a beautiful
embroidered carpet covering the stern, its corners trailing in the
sea. He used to have a passion for flowers and you can see even from
here the roof of the hot-house where he grew the most exotic plants he
could think of: rare varieties of chrysanthemums and poppies from the
Far East, tulips from Turkestan and Persia, mogra and lotus trees from
India. Now he has sold his house and has barely enough to live on.
The Sweet Waters of Asia are nearby, just between the ruins of the old
mediaeval castle--built by Sultan Mahomet the Conqueror before he laid
siege to Byzance--and the Imperial Kiosks of Chiok Soo, a real jewel.
Further to the right--that low, rambling white building is the yali of
the family of Mahmoud Pasha. They entertain a great deal and have asked
us to tea next Sunday. Now we pass again without realizing it to the
European shores; the old castle on the hill is the Castle of Europe,
the first stronghold of the Turks on this side of the Bosphorus, and
the big building next to it is the famous Robert College, the American
College for Boys.
The view is so gorgeous that it cannot be described. I wish I had a
canvas and the technique of Courbet, the talent of Turner and the
daring of Whistler to paint in all its splendour the clear sky of the
Bosphorus, so clear and so blue that the eyes can almost see that it
is endless--the red and gold flakes of its dark-green vegetation, so
luxuriant that it speaks of centuries of loving care--the peaceful
atmosphere of its old houses, so restful that you can feel that
generations of thinkers and philosophers have meditated behind their
walls--the harmonious outline of its hills, so smilingly round that
only immemorial age can have so smoothly curved them--the mystery of
its always running currents, running so continuously that they should
have long ago emptied the Black Sea into the Mediterranean. I wish I
was endowed with enough insight to understand the mischievous whisper
of its always dancing, always running little waves. I believe they want
to tell us that although the winds have pushed them south ever since
time began and will continue to push them south until the end of the
world, although they seem to follow the wind in an endless mad rush,
they still are there. They mischievously laugh because they will always
remain there, despite the wind and all its strength. I believe they
want to give the Turks an object lesson as to how nothing can be swept
away against its will.
Our first evening in Emirghian passed very quietly. The Turks being
very reserved by nature it always takes some time before the ice is
broken, even among members of the same family. We passed the time
sitting around and talking, giving a chance to our hosts and to my wife
to know each other.
But for every day thereafter Madame Ismet Bey and her son had arranged
some special entertainment for us. Quietly, unostentatiously and with
the characteristic lack of show with which well-bred Turks entertain
their guests, they succeeded in giving us, without our being aware
that it had all been pre-arranged, a different distraction every
afternoon. Friends and neighbours would drop in for tea one evening
and a little dance or a little bridge game would be organized as on
the spur of the moment. Another afternoon they would take us in their
rowboat for an outing on the Bosphorus and we would stop either to
call on some friends or to walk around or take some refreshments in
the casino of the park at Beikos, which at this season is quiet and
pleasant. Once we had a small picnic at the Sweet Waters of Asia. We
went in the rowboat up this little stream--a miniature Bosphorus,
with old tumbled-down houses by the water, big trees leaning their
branches covered with autumnal golden leaves over old walls covered
with vines, here and there a ramshackle wooden bridge spanning the
stream and giving it the appearance of a Turkish Venice, and then large
meadows on both sides, where groups of people were, like us, taking
advantage of the last few days of summery sunshine of the year. Old
Turkish women in black dusters, their hair covered with a white veil
arranged Sphinx fashion, were sitting cross-legged near the water
in silent and impassible contemplation, while younger women--their
daughters or granddaughters--were sitting a few steps away on chairs,
drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and chattering away their time.
Small boys in vividly coloured shirts, knickers hanging loose below
their knees, wearing shapeless fezzes with a small blue bead--against
the evil eye--would be running around and prancing with little girls
clad in Kate Greenaway skirts coloured with the brightest shades of
the rainbow, their loosened hair flapping over their narrow shoulders.
Simple folk all, neither peasants or city folk--just the families
of small village traders--the kind of people whose pictures foreign
newspapermen find a malign pleasure in publishing as representative
Turks. They might as well publish pictures of tenement house dwellers
of New York and London as being representative Americans or Britishers.
Many gypsies were there, going from group to group to tell fortunes,
to sing or to dance, gypsy women of all ages and of suspicious
cleanliness, who can always be detected in Constantinople by the fact
that they are the only ones to wear coloured bloomers, while some old
Greek and Armenian women wear black bloomers. By the way, another
conception of foreigners which my wife shared but which she lost after
a short stay in Constantinople was this very one of bloomers: in all
our stay in Turkey she did not see a single Turkish woman wearing them.
A little further up on the shores of the stream was a group of Kurdish
porters, big, athletic fellows, watching a bout of wrestling: two of
their companions stripped to the waist, their legs and feet bare, their
bodies soaked in oil, engaged in a bout of cat-as-catch-can, while
further up some Laze sailors of the Black Sea were dancing their slow
rhythmic national dance to the sound of weird flutes and tambourines.
We had to go well upstream to find a place where we could enjoy our
picnic peacefully and without onlookers. But I must say that we enjoyed
it thoroughly, quite as much as the spectacle we had on our way up and
down the river. I could not help however realizing how much a few years
had changed the general aspect of the Sweet Waters of Asia. Before my
departure it used to be the smartest place to go to during the good
season on Friday and Sunday afternoons. You would meet all your friends
there and the place used to be congested with the most graceful “caiks”
and rowboats of the Bosphorus.
On Sunday we went to tea at the house of Mahmoud Pasha. It was a big
affair, almost an official reception, as are all entertainments given
by the family of Mahmoud Pasha. This family is what might be called
another great and old Turkish clan. At present it is probably the most
socially prominent Turkish family of Constantinople and the reason
underlying its social activities is quite well known among the other
Turkish families who, while possibly not entirely approving them,
hold the family of Mahmoud Pasha in great respect for the utterly
unselfish manner in which all its members live up to their convictions.
Its social activities are looked upon as having a political reason
or significance. In the first place the family was one of the first
and bitterest enemies of the Committee of Union and Progress which,
after engineering most marvellously the Turkish Revolution, had
instituted a most objectionable sort of plural dictatorship conducted
by its own members. Mahmoud Pasha's family who, like all the other
old Turkish families, did not approve of this dictatorship of the
few, became very active in the Liberal Party organized in opposition
to the Committee. So far, so good! But with the extreme enthusiasm
which is a characteristic of all the family, it carried on its war
against the Committee by taking a firm and active stand against any
and all of its policies. It fought the Committee on every ground, not
so much because it was opposed in principle to this or that other
policy but just because this or that other policy emanated from the
Committee. For this purpose it joined hands with every party that was
formed against the Committee. It kept up this war for years and years
and one of its members--a most brilliant specimen of young Turkish
manhood--sacrificed his life on the altar of his convictions during
this long-drawn feud. It was quite natural that when the Committee
embraced a pro-German policy Mahmoud Pasha's family would automatically
become anti-Germans. But instead of being satisfied with fighting this
nefarious pro-German policy by an exclusive pro-Turkish policy--as
was done by most of the other prominent Turkish families--Mahmoud
Pasha's family had to go one better and ever since the armistice has
actively embraced a pro-British policy. Therefore, it feels that
it can perfectly well entertain and lead a social life even under
the present conditions in Constantinople. The second reason which
moves this family to participate so actively in the social life of
Constantinople is its belief that after all social life in the Turkish
capital should be led by the Turks themselves and rather than abandon
the functions of society leaders to some foreigners, or worse still to
some Greeks, Armenians or Levantines, the family makes every sacrifice
needed to hold and prolong its leadership. Therefore it gives large
entertainments and weekly teas amounting to real functions.
The Sunday we called on them the immense rooms of their magnificent
house were crowded to full capacity. Foreign officers of high rank
in resplendent uniforms, members of the different high commissions
and distinguished visitors of all nations were elbowing each other
and alas! also quite a few Levantine, Greek and Armenian business men
whose standing in the business community had forcibly made a place
for them in this cosmopolitan clique of Constantinople. Of course
the crowd here was not representative of Turkish society, but rather
of the cosmopolitan society that one meets in every principal center
of Europe. Only a very few Turks were present, mostly old friends of
the family who had come more with a desire to show their esteem and
respect for the charming hostesses than mixing with the international
crowd they were sure to meet there. The three daughters of the family
were doing the honours with a tact and courtesy only possible in
scions of old families whose breeding in etiquette has extended to
so many generations that it has finally become second nature. They
were assisted in their duties by two granddaughters of Mahmoud Pasha,
two young Turkish débutantes, who were so earnestly endeavouring to
overcome their natural shyness and act like their elders that their
charming awkwardness was really delightful to watch. It amused my wife
greatly to make a mental comparison between this refreshing shyness of
the Turkish débutantes and the self-confidence and forwardness of their
American sisters. To this day I don't know which of the two schools my
wife really approved of!
Of course the brothers and husbands of our hostesses were also
there, circulating from group to group and introducing the guests to
each other. And to me the most humorous note of the whole afternoon
was given when the husband of one of our hostesses' a middle-aged
gentleman, very-serious and very widely learned--confided to me that
for him entertainments and social functions of this kind were terrible
bores but that he had to go through with them just to please his wife.
Husbands are the same all over the world!... As I did not contradict
him he took me in the quietest corner we could find and we had a long
and interesting talk on subjects which took us far away from our
surroundings.
Nevertheless I could not help but agree entirely with my wife when she
told us, on our return to Emirghian, that she had found the whole thing
“somewhat too stiff,” and I believe Madame Ismet Bey was also of our
opinion and felt that we were sincere when we told her that we much
preferred her own small at-homes and the unpretentious little parties
to which she had taken us on the previous days.
I must say that we met most interesting and charming people at all
these small parties. It is of course easier to get to know people
when you meet them a few at a time than when you meet them in a big
gathering. Madame Ismet Bey's friends and neighbours were exceptionally
interesting people. During our stay in Emirghian we met for instance
Ihsan Pasha, the Turkish general who, being taken prisoner by the
Russians during the war, and having refused to give his word of honour
that he would not attempt to escape, was exiled to the innermost part
of Siberia. He told us in the most vivid manner how he ran away from
his captors in the middle of a stormy night, disguised as a peasant;
how, for three long months he had to walk--hunted and tracked by the
Cossacks and travelling only by night--to reach the Chinese border;
how he arrived, half-starved and completely exhausted in Mukden,
in Mandchouria, where a community of rich Chinese Moslems gave him
hospitality and, after he had recovered from his three months' walk
across the steppes of Siberia, gave him money to continue his trip.
He told us--but with much less detail--the difficulties he had had
to elude the Allied Secret Service which were on the lookout for him
when he crossed Japan and the United States, although America had not
yet entered the war at that time. However, he did not tell us how he
succeeded in crossing the Atlantic despite the severe surveillance
of England and how he succeeded in running the Allied blockade of
Turkey and popped out one day in Constantinople after every one had
entirely given up hope of ever seeing him alive again. Under the most
difficult and trying circumstances he had thus succeeded in getting
over seemingly unsurmountable obstacles and accomplishing in war time,
tracked by enemies on all sides, a complete loop around the world in
less than ten months. We could not help thinking how terrible those
long months must have been for his wife, a charming young lady, who
seemed now to have forgotten all the horror of these interminable weeks
of suspense and who confided to us that she had never given up hope as
she had an entire trust in the ability of her husband and an immovable
faith in God. She said that she had passed most of her time in prayer.
We also met in Emirghian Captain Hassan Bey and his wife who lived with
her family in a beautiful villa on the hills of Bebek, but a villa in
the old style, in complete harmony with the surroundings and nestling
in a park of old trees which did not, however shut out the gorgeous
view of the Bosphorus. From the top of these hills the Bosphorus looks
more like a chain of small lakes than like a continuous waterway, the
sinuous capes of both continents cutting the view of the water in
different places. It is like looking at the lakes of Switzerland from
the peak of a mountain, only one is much nearer the water and the
panorama has no sharp or rugged outlines but presents a continuous
aspect of smoothly rounded hills, covered with forests, with mosques
here and there, and with little patches of blue water. On Fridays all
the ships, barges and rowboats and all the houses owned by the Turks
are adorned with Turkish flags, red with the white crescent and star,
fluttering in the wind and it gives to the country a cheerful and gay
aspect which reminds you at a distance of a gorgeous field of poppies.
Living with Madame Hassan Bey was her young sisters, a Turkish
sub-débutante, but somewhat less shy than the granddaughters of Mahmoud
Pasha, as she is a student of the American College for Girls. In the
course of time it became one of our greatest pleasures to call on them
at Bebek, where they give once in a while a small informal tea. They
live there all the year round as it is at an easy distance from the
city.
VI
STAMBOUL
At last we settled in Stamboul. It took us a long time to arrange
everything as we wanted, as it is hard to get upholsterers, carpet
men and all the rest to do their work properly and rapidly here in
Constantinople. Constantinople is not much different in this than any
other city I know. There is possibly this difference that it is less
difficult to explain what you want and how you want it to decorators
who, like those in western Europe or in America, have already had
experience in putting up a modern home, than to those in Constantinople
who have had none or very little experience in this line. But anyhow
there is always a way to get things done by working people, and the
Turkish workingmen respond to good treatment in a most willing manner:
they are anxious to learn and have much aptitude for learning.
As we had foreseen the hard work we had ahead of us, we took the
precaution of taking possession of the house only after we had secured
the servants we needed so that we might count on their help. As far
as servants are concerned the Turks have surely solved this problem
by adapting to it the same kind of tradition which they maintain so
jealously in their family relations. I mean to say that it is the
custom for generations of servants to serve the same family of masters,
so that as a rule servants and masters are so attached to each other
that they never think of parting. Whenever one needs or desires a
servant all one has to do is to look up some of the old servants of the
family who are sure to find a son, a daughter, a niece or a cousin of
theirs who is only too glad to perpetuate the traditions of his or her
family by serving the family of its old masters. We, therefore, did not
have any difficulty in securing ours, as we took as valet a young man
who was born in my father's house where his father had been employed
for over thirty years, and our cook was the daughter of my mother's
nurse. She also helped the maid in keeping the house in order. In this
way we could at any time leave home in peace as we were confident that
our people would look after our interests, even if we were absent,
possibly better than we could ourselves and to this day we have never
had any occasion for regretting the trust we placed in them. Of course
for these very reasons servants in Turkey have a totally different
standing from servants in any other country. They always know their
place, they never dare to take liberties or to take the slightest
advantage of their special standing: it is not in their code. But
they consider themselves, and are considered by their masters, almost
as members of the family--second class members, if that expression
could be used. Our relations with our own people were typical of
these principles and in order to do full justice to them and to give
an accurate idea of what I mean, I am going to confess that during a
period of our last stay in Constantinople I had to consider seriously
the possibility of closing our establishment and of living more cheaply
in some other quarter. I therefore notified our people that they would
have to look for other positions and that I could only help them until
they found some place elsewhere. They received the news with an emotion
which I could only hope to find in my own brothers or sisters, and left
the room with tears in their eyes. Next day they asked to be heard,
the three together, and they informed me that after having given due
consideration to the situation they had come to the conclusion that
now more than ever they had the opportunity to show their attachment
and devotion to us, that now more than ever we needed them; therefore
they had decided to stay with us. Do what I could I could not persuade
them to leave. I found them better paying positions with some friends
or relatives; they refused to go and for three months, until I could to
some extent overcome the crisis in my business, they steadily refused
to accept any pay on the ground that if I paid them we would have to
leave the house, and if we left the house we could not find another
place where we could all live together. Needless to say that such
people cannot be treated as servants in the western sense of the word,
and that they in turn must have no cause of complaint in regard to
the treatment they receive from their masters. Of course we made good
to them their sacrifices as soon as we could, and naturally they knew
that we would do so, but I doubt that in any other place in the world
such real devotion could be found even if those who made the sacrifice
had every reason to be sure that they would eventually be adequately
compensated.
Needless to say that right from the beginning the manner in which we
treated our people was the friendly manner usual in Turkey. My wife
adapted herself very quickly to this as she is from the South and I
believe that the southern states of America are the only place where
the relations between masters and servants are anything like those
prevailing in Turkey. Our people of course had each his own room.
The cook, who was a widow, had with her her little daughter, a child
about three years old, whom we took care of almost like our adopted
child. It happens frequently in Turkey that a child like this is taken
with the mother into a home, the mother doing some housework and the
child becoming what is called in Turkish the “child of Heaven” of the
masters of the house--that is, the masters of the house take care of
the child, bringing it up and educating it just as if it were their
own, but without, however, adopting it legally. In two years we hope to
put our own “child of Heaven” into the English School for Girls which
has the advantage of a kindergarten over the American School for Girls.
Our people can go out when they want, but they never do it without
asking us and they never come home a minute later than they say they
will. As they are all very ambitious to learn and improve themselves we
ask them into our rooms after dinner about once a week and we talk to
them of the world in general and of interesting topics just as if they
were friends.