The band—Turkish melodies—Turkish music like a Turkish
dinner; it is a series of surprises—Turkish etiquette
at dinner—The pack-horse is lame—The people ask for
many liras—The Postmaster is in bed—The chief of
the police—Horse-copers in Aleppo—The fair sex in
that city—A test for lovers—We burn our fingers soon
enough after marriage—Domestic life in the harems in
Angora—The immorality in Yuzgat—Mr. Gasparini—Turkish
hospitality—Armenians dress like Turks—Christian women—Great
harmony between Turks and Christians—Armenian testimony
doubtful—The prison at Sivas—Hearsay evidence—A Turkish
veterinary surgeon—Horse-dealers—Two pounds offered
for the horse—History of the Ottoman Empire—The Bey's
present—Generosity of the Turks—The devil is not so black as
he is painted.
By this time the guests had consumed many cigarettes, smoked numerous
Nargilehs, and drank freely of the liqueurs. The host, rising, proposed
that we should adjourn to the dining-room. There we found three
musicians with instruments much resembling banjos.
"We are to have some music," said the Bey, the Pacha's son, who was one
of the guests. "I am afraid that it will not be much to your taste. Our
melodies are very different to those which you are accustomed to hear
in Europe."
He was quite right; Turkish melodies are very different. There is
a wildness and pathos about many of them which strikes the stranger
accustomed to the more regular measure which distinguishes European
music. Now they resounded so plaintively that the guests involuntarily
ceased talking. Another instant the instruments, bursting forth with a
startling crash, half deafened us with the clamour.
The performers swung their heads from side to side, and kept time with
the quickening air; the strains went faster and faster. The guests were
inspired with the musicians' enthusiasm. All the heads began to swing,
we Europeans involuntarily marking the time with our feet on the floor.
The musicians panted with their exertions. Suddenly the melody left off
abruptly, and one of the performers commenced a doleful dirge. This did
not last long, and when he was in the most pathetic part, another crash
from the orchestra interrupted him in the middle of a verse.
"Turkish music is exactly like a Turkish dinner," observed one of the
guests; "it is a series of surprises; the leader of the orchestra goes
from _andante_ to a racing pace without any _crescendo_ whatsoever;
the cook in the same manner—he first gives us a dish as sweet as honey,
and then astonishes our stomachs with a sauce as acid as vinegar. Now
we are eating fish, another instant blanc-mange. A vegetable is next
placed before us, and our stomachs have scarcely recovered from their
astonishment, when a sweet soup is served up with some savoury pastry."
The servants, who were much more numerous than the guests, vied with
each other in serving the different dishes. Twenty attendant domestics
were arranged in Indian file. So soon as the host made a sign to
the leading domestic, each kind of food was replaced by another, and
number-two servant was prepared with fresh viands, while number one,
who had hurried to the kitchen, returned with another dish.
The table was a raised one, chairs were placed round it. This was done
in honour of the European visitors. We all ate with our fingers, each
man helping himself according to his rank or social position. It was
not etiquette for a Cadi to seize a piece of meat before the Bey put
his fingers in the dish, a captain had to be careful not to offend the
susceptibilities of a colonel.
To eat blanc-mange _à la Turque_ requires some practice; however, the
Consul and the Italian doctor had been for some time in the East, and
used their fingers as readily as a knife and fork.
At last our dinner was over. Fruit, mincemeat, dishes of vegetables,
sweets and raisins, salads and creams, concluding with a huge bowl of
boiled rice, had been disposed of, the whole having been washed down by
tumblers of red country wine very like Burgundy.
"Praise be to God!" said our host, rising; his example was followed by
the rest of the guests.
A servant poured water over the hands of the visitors, beginning with
each man according to his rank. We adjourned into another room. Here
coffee, _tchibouks_, and _nargilehs_ were handed round to the company.
A servant now approached, and said that Osman was waiting outside, and
wished to speak to me.
"What is the matter?" I inquired. "Have you come to tell me how very
industrious you are, or do you want some more money?" I had previously
observed that when Osman wished to speak to me, these two topics were
almost invariably the subject of his conversation.
"No, Effendi, but the horse—"
"Which horse?"
"The bay that makes a noise."
"Well, what of him?"
"He is lame. My brother has seen him. I have seen him. He will not be
able to carry his pack to-morrow."
"Hire two horses instead of one, and lead the roarer."
"Yes, Effendi, that is what I have been trying to do; but the people
ask for many liras; their hearts are stony at the sight of our
difficulties, they open wide their purses for the Effendi's gold."
"Have you been to the post?"
"Yes, but the postmaster has ten horses, and only one man to look after
them. The postmaster says if you hire two baggage animals that you must
pay for ten."
"Wait here, Osman," I said; returning to my host, I informed him of my
difficulties.
"Oh! the dog!" exclaimed the Bey. "He is trying to cheat you!"
Tearing a piece of paper from an old letter in his pocket, he wrote a
note to the chief of the police, desiring him to bring the postmaster
immediately before us.
"The postmaster is in bed," said Osman, who had entered the room.
"In bed or out of bed, he shall be brought here," said the young Bey,
stamping the piece of paper with his seal, he gave it to a servant.
Presently a noise was heard. The postmaster arrived, followed by the
chief of the police.
"You must give this English gentleman two horses at once."
"Yes, Bey Effendi."
"But why did you not do so before?"
"Because I did not know that it was the Bey's pleasure—the will of
the son of our Pacha is my will. Upon my head be it; the horses shall
come."
"Good horses," I remarked, "stout and strong."
"Have I not said so?" replied the man, and it was agreed that I was to
hire two horses as far as Yuzgat, paying the regular tariff of three
piastres for each horse per hour.
"People in Turkey who deal in horses are great rogues," said the Bey;
"are they the same in your country? A horse-dealer near Kars would try
and get the best of his dearest friend in a bargain."
"They are much the same in England," I replied; and the young Bey began
to tell us some stories of horse-copers in Aleppo, where he had passed
some years, and in which town the fair sex was more than usually frail.
"The young men in that city have a curious way of showing their
affection to the lady of their choice," continued the speaker. "A girl
has, say, three lovers—a small allowance for a lady in that part of
the world—she does not know which to select, each one of the suitors is
eager to display his gallantry."
"What does she do?" asked one of the party. "Accept them all?"
"No, she takes three bits of live charcoal from out of the fire; giving
each of her lovers a piece, she tells them to place it in the palms
of their hands. The fire burns through the skin, the tendons are laid
bare; sometimes the amorous gentlemen will resist till the flesh has
been burnt to the bone. Here one or two of them generally succumb to
the torture; the man who resists the longest, wins the lady."
"But if they are all equally indifferent to pain, and the charcoal
burns out, what happens then?" I inquired.
"The lady takes three more pieces of charcoal, and begins again with
the other hand," replied the Bey. "The more they resist, the better the
girl likes them, because it is a proof to her mind that they value her
more than their own torture."
"Did you ever try it?"
"No," said the Bey, laughing. "I can get a wife without any trouble, so
I do not care about burning my fingers. We burn our fingers quite soon
enough after marriage, as it is."
"Yes," said the doctor, and he began to give me a long account of the
domestic life in some of the harems in Angora.
According to the doctor's experiences there was a great deal of
immorality amidst the fair sex in the city, although nothing to what
existed in Yuzgat, another town which I should pass by on the way
to Kars. In Angora, although the women are very unfaithful to their
husbands, yet everything is kept more or less concealed. In Yuzgat it
was very different, and there you could actually see the dance of the
Turkish gipsy women, although in Angora it was strictly prohibited.
M. Gasparini was doing a large practice. He had been established for
ten years in Angora and its neighbourhood. From his position as a
medical man he had the opportunity of knowing more about the domestic
life of the inhabitants than the other European residents.
"Well, although the women may be immoral, the men are very hospitable,"
said the Consul. "Wherever a stranger may go he is always received
with the greatest hospitality. A few years ago a friend of mine, Mr.
Thompson, was travelling from the Black Sea to Angora. He arrived at a
village. The Khan was full, every room was occupied. However, he was an
old traveller, and could easily accommodate himself to circumstances.
Taking his cloak, he lay down in the yard and prepared to pass the
night in the open air. Presently he was awakened by a tap on the
shoulder. On looking up, he found an old Turk bending over him.
"Why are you sleeping here?" inquired the Mohammedan.
"Because there is no room in the Khan."
"This is not right. A stranger, and outside the gate. Come with me."
Taking Mr. Thompson by the hand, the Turk led him to his house, gave
him a clean bed and his breakfast, waited himself upon his guest, and
would not receive any remuneration.
"Now," added the Consul, "the Turk was a Mohammedan, and Mr. Thompson
a Christian; if the Turk had been in England, and had found himself
placed in a similar predicament to Mr. Thompson, do you think that
there are many Englishmen who would have behaved so generously to an
utter stranger?"
The following day I called upon some Armenian gentlemen, and found
their houses furnished like my host's, with thick carpets, divans,
and pipes, the walls being bare and whitewashed. Pictures and
looking-glasses were seldom to be seen, the latter being a very costly
luxury, owing to the difficulty of carriage.
The Armenians dressed in a similar manner to the Turks. The Christian
women were closely veiled whenever they left the house. In many
instances, an Armenian was not permitted to see his wife[12] before
marriage, and had to take her, as the Yankees say, "on spec."
Great harmony existed between the Turks and Christians. Whenever
I dined with an Armenian there were always Mohammedans present.
When I visited a Turk's house, I generally found Armenians amongst
the visitors. On inquiring whether this state of things prevailed
elsewhere, I was informed by the Armenians that in other parts
of Anatolia, and more particularly in Sivas, the Christians were
ill-treated by the Turks, and that the prisons were filled with
Armenians.
During my stay at Ismid I had heard precisely the same story of the
sufferings of the Christians at Angora. I had been told that the
Armenians were cruelly oppressed, and that justice was never shown to
them. However, in Angora the two religions did not seem to clash. The
Mohammedans and Christians were on the best of terms. I began to be
a little sceptical as to the truth of the statement about Sivas, and
determined not to form any opinion on the matter from mere hearsay
evidence, but to see with my own eyes if the prisons were so full of
Christians as the Armenians in Angora would have had me believe.
Later on in the day, Radford suggested that it would be as well for me
to sell the lame horse and buy another; he was doubtful whether, even
without his pack, the animal would be able to march to Yuzgat. The
poor beast was very lame, the frog of his foot was much swollen. Whilst
we were talking, a Turkish veterinary surgeon arrived: taking out his
knife, he made a slight incision in the swollen place.
Meantime several horse-dealers, learning that I wanted to buy a horse,
brought me some animals for inspection, at the same time offering me
the liberal price of 2_l._ sterling for my own animal.
"Well," said one man, extracting some silver from what appeared to be
an old stocking, "I will give twelve medjidis."
"Your heart is very hard, brother, soften it a little," said Osman.
"Our horse shall not go for less than forty silver pieces. You love
your money, but we love our horse still more."
Nobody would give this sum, and as I thought that possibly the
operation performed by the Turkish veterinary surgeon might benefit the
animal, I determined to wait another day in Angora. This would also
give me an opportunity of inspecting more closely the old Augustin
monument, one of the curiosities in the town.
To my great delight the operation proved successful; in the evening
the horse could walk without much pain. He would be able to march on
the following morning, and so I gave orders for an early start. Just
before leaving, a servant arrived from the Pacha's palace. The young
Bey, who had observed that I much admired a work entitled the "History
of the Ottoman Empire," and which was in his library, had sent it to me
as a present, and hoped that I would do him the honour of accepting the
book as a memento of my visit to Angora. There were about ten volumes,
the weight would have been at least twenty pounds, and a considerable
addition to the baggage. Much to my regret, I was obliged to decline
the kind offer. The hospitality of the Turkish nation is proverbial.
The generosity of the Turks is equally great. In fact, they carry this
virtue to excess. Sometimes after having admired a horse, I have been
surprised to find that the steed has been sent to my stable, with a
note from the owner, entreating my acceptance of the animal.
I often experienced great difficulty in finding excuses for not
accepting the presents so generously offered to me by my entertainers.
"I cannot take any more luggage," I would say, if the present were
at all cumbersome. However, if it were a horse, I could only decline
the gift and say that I had not sufficient servants to look after the
animals.
"But I have plenty of servants, take one of mine; he will accompany
you throughout your journey, and then will return to me," would be the
answer.
People in this country who abuse the Turkish nation, and accuse them of
every vice under the sun, would do well to leave off writing pamphlets
and travel a little in Anatolia. There is an old saying that "the devil
is not so black as he is painted," and in many things writers who call
themselves Christians might well take a lesson from the Turks in Asia
Minor.