THE TURKS.
Their Origin--Early History--General Characteristics--Good
Qualities--Kindness--Hospitality--Temperance--Honesty--Intellectual
Ability--Obedience to Rulers--Bravery--Bad
Characteristics--Indifference to
Suffering--Brutality--Degradation of Women--Sensuality--Official
Unreliability--Fatalism--Insolence--Indolence--General Summary.
The term Turk is a somewhat indefinite one. In general it applies to
any or all of the different tribes originating east of the Caspian,
and who have spread in varying degrees north, south and west. Without
undertaking to give specific definition, it is sufficient to apply the
name to the greater part of the Turanian race, and for present purposes
to limit it to those branches that have at various times occupied what
is known as the Turkish Empire.
According to a legend, the common ancestor of all was a mighty king
by the name of Turk, who lived in the time of Abraham. A descendant
of his, called Oghuz Khan, had six sons, whom he sent one day to the
chase. Returning, they brought him a bow and arrows which they had
found. The bow was given to the three eldest and the three arrows to
the younger. The latter each took one, but the first three divided the
bow among them, receiving thereby the name Bosuk, The Breakers. They
were intrusted with the care of the right wing of his army, while to
the three youngest, called Utschok, The Three Arrows, was given the
care of the left wing. These younger ones extended their rule eastward
toward China and were the ancestors of the Mongols. The others roamed
westward. One became the founder of the Turkomans, another of the
Seljuks and the third of the Ottomans or Osmanlis. This, however,
is chiefly legend. What is clearer history is the fact that varying
tribes, with some evident connection with the Mongols of Eastern Asia,
spread westward through Russia and Persia, and encamped upon the plains
of Mesopotamia and Asia Minor. Their first incursions were about the
fifth and sixth centuries, at the very time when both Caliphate and
Byzantine Empire were showing the weakness of effeminacy. At first
their progress was, through lack of any organization and unity, of
little moment. They furnished the mercenaries for the Caliphs, and
while occasionally governing one section or another, held their power
in very uncertain hands.
The first chieftain to accomplish anything like permanent rule
was Togrul Bey, the grandson of Seljuk, an Ameer of Turkestan, who
wrested one country after another from its princes and reigned from
Bokhara to Syria, from the vicinity of the Indus to the Black Sea.
He bequeathed his vast empire to the famous Alp Arslan, who crossed
the Euphrates, conquered Armenia and Georgia, and came up to the very
borders of the already shrunken Byzantine Empire. Its emperor sought
to check the advance of the chieftain, but was defeated, captured, and
only received his liberty as a special favor of his conqueror. He,
however, granted it not so much from any considerations of humanity,
as because he realized that, brave and intrepid as his horsemen were,
they were no match in the long run for the disciplined legions of what
was to him a new world. As so often is the case, the adventurous rush
westward left his ancestral region exposed to enemies. On his return
to reinstate himself in Bokhara, Alp Arslan was killed, and his son,
Malek Shah, came to the throne. His reign, 1072-1092, was the golden
era of the Seljuk dynasty. His empire extended from the Caspian to the
Mediterranean, from Khorassan to the Bosporus. The Fatimite Caliphs of
Egypt were practically under his power, and from his capital at Konieh
(Iconium) he governed the whole of his vast domains. The Seljuk ruler
was not merely a conqueror. Whether under the influence of the Caliphs
or not, he interested himself in education, founded schools, and it
was during his reign that many of the most beautiful specimens of what
is mistakenly called Saracenic architecture were erected throughout
Central Asia Minor. The graceful mosques and arches, sometimes highly
adorned, mostly now fallen into ruin, are all that is left of a strange
incursion of the wild Tartars into civilization.
Malek Shah left little or nothing of his own ability to his three
sons, who disputed among themselves and divided the empire: one holding
Persia and laying the foundation for the present Kajar dynasty; another
occupying Northern Syria, while the third retained the ancestral
capital at Konieh. This division not merely made them subject to
incursions from abroad, but to revolutions from the chieftains who
nominally gave them allegiance. The first to take advantage of their
weakness were the Mongols, who, under Zinghis Khan, either overbore
the weak Seljuks entirely or held them in subordination, though still
allowing them the title of Sultan. The Mongols, however, had no staying
power, and gave place in their turn to still another incursion. A tribe
of Turks swept away by the Mongol invasion had found their way from
Khorassan to the region west of Ararat, where they camped about the
headquarters of the Euphrates. They found this, however, not exactly
to their mind, and longing for their ancient home, set out to return
to it. Their chief, however, was drowned in attempting to cross the
Euphrates, and the result was a division of the troops. The two oldest
sons held on their way to Khorassan; the younger two, with about 400
families, wandered back and forth in true nomad style from plain to
mountain. One, Erthogrul, came out upon a plain of Cappadocia and
found, according to the story, two armies in conflict. True to the
mountain instinct, unfortunately lost in later years, he joined the
weaker company, and with his fresh warriors won for them the victory.
Later consultation revealed to him the fact that his late ally was
the Sultan of the Seljuks, seeking to defend his much-diminished
kingdom against one of his periodical foes. The new arrivals, fresh
from their mountain life, unweakened by the experiences of the plain,
formed a valuable reinforcement. They joined heartily with those
they had helped, recognized loyally their chief, and assisted him to
regain his power over the various tribes around, and also to make some
headway against the Greeks. In course of time a closer alliance was
brought about and the son of Erthogrul, Ottoman, Osman, or Othman, by
persistent courtship and a convenient dream, won the daughter of an
Arab chief, and Malkatoun became the mother of Orchan.
Erthogrul lived to an advanced age, but little by little transferred
the care of his kingdom to Othman, who, on the death of his benefactor,
became the recognized head of the nation. This was in the latter part
of the thirteenth century. His reign, and that of Orchan, were occupied
chiefly in consolidating their power, developing the general character
of the people, introducing the best military arrangements known at that
day, and in extending their empire. One by one they drew under their
leadership the various Turkish tribes, and advanced nearer and nearer
to Constantinople, until they made Brusa their capital. It was here
that both father and son are buried, and their tombs are objects of
great reverence among the Turks to the present day.
It is probable that the influence of these two men largely controlled
the development of Turkish character. That character is often greatly
misunderstood. It is by no means as thoroughly barbaric as many
suppose. It is impossible that a nation that could develop such
power, could not merely extend its boundaries, but maintain them,
subdue nation after nation, and keep them in subjection, hold its
own for centuries against the hostility of Europe, and withstand the
disintegrating influences that have been at work during the past
century, should not have much of vitality in its nature. Whatever of
weakness at the head, there must have been, and there must still be,
soundness of body. That this is true is testified to, not merely by
travelers, of whatever nationality, but by the very people who are
quoted as saying, “There is no good Turk but a dead Turk.” The fact
is, that in order to estimate accurately the character of the Turkish
native, we must go not to the official circles, but to the private
houses, whether in the cities or the country, but most of all in the
country.
The ordinary Turkish peasant, and many a townsman, is a man very
simple in his tastes. His food is plain but wholesome, his dress is
unassuming, his house most primitively furnished. He is kindly in his
bearing; intensely fond of his children, frequently so of his wife;
a great admirer of the beauties of nature, generally contriving to
have some flowers within reach. He is social, but in rather a sober
way, in this respect quite different from the Armenians, who are far
more buoyant, and from the Greeks, whose entertainments are frequently
boisterous. He is thoroughly hospitable, entertaining with a free hand.
To the unfortunate, especially the blind, the crippled, the demented,
he is very kind, not only never lifting a finger against them, but
helping them when he can. So also with animals, he is careful and
generally considerate.
In his private life the Turkish peasant is temperate. Not as temperate
as he is supposed to be, but still temperate. As a rule he is a
monogamist. Polygamy is comparatively rare, chiefly because of
the expense. The facility and widespread use of divorce, however,
accomplishes much the same thing. Any Turk can put away his wife at
any time, and take another, and in the towns this privilege is used
constantly, nor is there any disgrace involved. There are, however,
multitudes of instances where husband and wife are true to each other
through a long life. The statement is frequently made that the social
evil is unknown. This is not true. In the cities, and wherever there
are garrisons, there is prostitution, though not to the same extent as
in Europe. Sodomy is far more common. In the main, however, the common
Turk of the provinces will compare very favorably with the peasant of
other lands, and one proof is found in the unimpaired vigor of his
physical constitution. He is ordinarily a robust, well-formed, powerful
man.
In his relations with the subject races of the empire, the Turk
never forgets that he is the lord of the land. This is intensified by
the fact that he occupies himself chiefly with the care of the land,
herds and flocks, which he considers the only real property. Trade he
has little taste for, and as little facility in it. Banking, too, is
entirely alien to his habits. These pursuits he looks upon as implying
endless trickery and deception, and accordingly he looks upon them with
contempt, for, except under the influence of the West, he is in general
truthful, honest and reliable. This contempt is usually mingled with
somewhat of dread, for he is no match for the very people he despises,
whom yet he finds so essential to his comfort and general welfare.
The result is, that for the most part he lives on good terms with his
neighbors of whatever race or creed. In ordinary times he will be seen
on friendly, even intimate, relations with them, and, although the
distinction is always clear, it is yet frequently overlooked. Villages,
Christian and Turkish, on the same plain, will ordinarily be at peace,
and in the towns and cities there is seldom any indication of the line
that separates one quarter from another. Even in the massacres of
the past year, there have been many instances where they have given
protection to hunted Christian refugees.
So far as the foreigner is concerned, he is to the average Turk more
of a curiosity than anything else, a kind of being with whom, or
with which, he has very little to do. He has a dim conception of the
existence of some strange countries far remote from his own, where
people dress in a most uncomfortable way, eat strange things, and
altogether lead a life which has not the slightest attraction for
himself. There are men, even in interior villages, who have a much more
accurate idea of Europe, and who have even heard of America, but the
following incident, which is a true one, will apply to the greater part
of the Turks of the provinces.
A foreigner who was traveling in Northern Syria came to a village on
the Euphrates, and entered into conversation with his host, a part of
which was as follows:
_Host._ What is the latest news?
_Foreigner._ Have you heard that the Russian Emperor is dead?
_Host._ No! When did he die?
_Foreigner._ Two or three weeks ago.
_Host._ Is there a new king yet? (Notice change in title.)
_Foreigner._ Why, yes, even though not formally crowned, the new
Emperor became Emperor the moment his father died.
_Host._ Who is the new king?
_Foreigner._ The son of the one dead. In Europe the crown goes from
father to child, not to the oldest male of the blood royal as in the
Turkish Empire.
_Host._ Has the new king come to Constantinople yet?
_Foreigner._ What for?
_Host._ Why, to get our Emperor’s permission to put on his crown; he
cannot put it on without our Emperor’s permission.
_Foreigner._ I think that has not been the custom of late years.
_Host._ Why, certainly it has. None of the kings of Europe can be
crowned without our Emperor’s permission. Is not that so? (this to a
Moslem who had just come in).
_Visitor._ Why, yes. They are all vassals of our Emperor.
_Host._ I wonder if our Emperor will not insist that the new Russian
king pledge himself to abstain from war two years, before letting him
put on his crown?
_Visitor._ Probably he will.
The intellectual ability of the Turk is good. When it is remembered
that there is almost no education of any kind throughout the country;
that what little there is, is confined to the priests; that there is
little reading and almost no opportunity for development, the facts
apparent on every hand indicate no mean order of talent. The records
of attainment in government schools and elsewhere show that Turkish
young men are fully the equals of any. In many respects the conduct
of the government is of a very good order, and the history of Turkish
diplomacy is certainly on a par with that of any court of Europe.
They have not the keenness of the Armenians or of the Greeks, but
have good minds, and, where circumstances give the opportunity, they
show ability to think for themselves. In the official class this is
particularly noticeable, and the educated Turk of Constantinople stands
fully abreast of his compeer in the cities of Europe. An American,
traveling in a railroad train from Adrianople to Constantinople, got
into conversation with a Turkish army officer. He found the officer
well posted in many lines of investigation and even well read in the
Turkish version of the Bible. It is an interesting and significant fact
that large editions of that version, in the form specially adapted
to Turks, have been sold throughout the empire, and that they are
constantly read and studied, has been repeatedly affirmed by the Turks
themselves. A nation that can produce such men as Fuad, Midhat, and
Ali Pashas, and not a few of those prominent in later years, and that
shows such interest in a daily press, cannot be considered of mediocre
intellectual ability.
From the standpoint of a despotic government the Turk makes an almost
ideal subject. He is absolutely obedient to those whom he regards as
constituted authorities, even where treated by them with the most
outrageous oppression and injustice, as is repeatedly the case under
the Sultan’s rule. He seldom if ever complains, and when he does it is
with bated breath, as if there could be no criticism of his superiors.
Whatever of wrong there may be, is laid at the door, not of the
authorities, but of some outside and to him unknown influences which
compel this action under which he suffers. Or it may be that he looks
upon it as just punishment from God for some crime against his law. But
of this later on. As a soldier he takes rank with the very best in the
world. His naturally fine physique and strong constitution and simple
manner of life give him great endurance, and his unwavering obedience,
which, however, is by no means stolid, as is that of the Russian, makes
him the reliance of his officers, while his education in his religion
from childhood makes him reckless even to the point of despising death.
The record of Turkish wars throughout the centuries has been one that
any nation might well be proud of, so far as achievements of its
soldiers are concerned; and no one who watched the veterans as they
returned from Plevna and from Shipka could fail to understand how it
was that Russia had to buy her way into the fortifications.
There is, however, another side to Turkish character, illustrated by
many facts along the lines already mentioned. The treatment of the
insane whose detention becomes necessary, and who have none to provide
for them, is brutal in the extreme. In times of famine or of general
distress the Turk will do little or nothing to relieve even his own
people, and when an animal becomes sick or helpless, it is left to a
miserable end. It is no uncommon sight on the caravan roads to see
camels, horses or mules, that have fallen by the way left to die,
while the vultures gather and commence their work even before life is
extinct. The stories of the past year of torture, murder and outrage,
seem to belong to a race of demons rather than of human beings. It
is true that for much of this the Kurds are responsible, as in the
Bulgarian massacres it was largely the Pomaks who were guilty of
the worst excesses, but still it is true that the Turks themselves,
soldiers and peasants, committed deeds of the most frightful enormity.
The ripping up of pregnant women to decide a wager as to the sex of
the unborn child, the wholesale outraging of women and girls, not to
speak of the torturing of men, and even little children, in the most
inhuman fashion, indicate a fiendish barbarism that seems absolutely
incompatible with the kindness and hospitality to which so many bear
witness. Yet it is simple truth that, were the facts to be detailed in
all their horror, the chronicle would disgust the world. A portion of
it has been set forth in such articles as those by E. J. Dillon, in the
_Contemporary Review_; by Frederick D. Greene, in “The Armenian Crisis
in Turkey,” and a few, comparatively very few, instances will be found
in later chapters of this book. They need not be repeated here. It is
sufficient to say that there is not a case given for which there is not
abundant proof.
So also in private life there are aspects of even the best of the
Turkish people that can call forth only condemnation. Most noticeable,
perhaps, is the condition of women, which is in the main thoroughly
degraded. From her birth she is looked upon as a menial and an
unfortunate. This is illustrated by the great amount of infanticide,
especially if the child be a girl; by the haggard, ugly countenances
of the old women, so different in that respect from the Armenians;
the piercing shrillness of their voices, from which every tone
of tenderness seems to have gone; the very general vulgarity of
conversation and of thought, always attendant upon a condition of
society where the woman must rely upon satisfying the passions rather
than the heart of her husband. As already stated, there are exceptions,
but in the main the condition of the Turkish women is very low. This
condition reacts upon the men and makes them vulgar and sensual in the
extreme. The everyday language of the average Turk would shock the
lowest of the slum boys in our own cities. Under ordinary circumstances
sensualism is kept measurably in check by the inevitable restraints of
community life, but once let those be broken and lust reigns supreme,
dominating everything. As a gentleman who knows them well and never
hesitates to recognize their good qualities, has said, “In a Turk’s
eye all that a woman has is sex, and for it he lusts with absolute
brutality.”
Similar characteristics appear in his relations with others. While
ordinarily peaceable and desirous of living on good terms with his
neighbors of other creeds or races, and thus generally truthful, honest
and hospitable, he will on occasion show the reverse of all these
characteristics, and it is not infrequently the case that travelers
find it impossible to understand how any one can possibly speak of
the race with other than contempt for its utter disregard of the most
ordinary amenities of life. The explanation is undoubtedly partly to
be found in their religious training, but there is ingrained in the
Turkish character an element of dishonesty and of disregard for truth.
This uncertainty appears somewhat in their relations to their own
government. Loyal as they are, it has not infrequently been true that
they, far more than the Christian subjects, furnish the most anxiety,
and if now the inmost thoughts of the Sultan could be learned, it is
most probable that he fears the Softas far more than the Armenians.
Next, perhaps, to the condition of woman, the weaker or the worst
side of Turkish character is manifest in the official class. The Turks
themselves have a proverb that “The Turk is a decent man until he
becomes an official, and then he becomes a scamp,” and this is borne
out in the greater part of the intercourse between that class and the
rest of the world. Probably no court in history can give so marked an
illustration of the decadence of all moral power as the Turkish court.
There have been noble men, men of preeminent ability and sterling
character, but they have been very rare, and the average official,
whether in civil, military or naval service, is absolutely unreliable.
He will make promises that he never intends to keep and that he knows
he cannot keep. He will accept bribes unblushingly and will deal with
all whom he comes in contact on the general principle that he is the
smartest man who can get the most and give the least; a sycophant to
his superiors, a bully to his inferiors. His whole life is a constant
strife with every one with whom he has any relations whatever. The
very atmosphere in which he lives seems to breathe dishonesty and
falsehood, and the ability he shows is prostituted to the very basest
ends. Yet here again, as in almost every other statement, exceptions
must be made. No one who has had dealings with the departments of
the government has failed to find many instances of courtesy and
consideration. With all the outrage and injustice perpetrated by the
provincial governors, there have been many instances of not merely
justice, but kindness, in their dealing with all classes of people.
When, however, every possible exception is noted, it remains true
that the official life from the highest to the lowest is thoroughly
demoralized.
The one dominant element in the Turkish character, however, the one
which controls and modifies all the others, is his religion. This is
no place for a general description of Mohammedanism. Some reference
has already been made to it in a preceding chapter. Here we have only
to note its effect upon the Turkish character. That effect is both
advantageous and disadvantageous. The grandeur of its monotheism
fills his soul and holds him in absolute subjection to that idea.
One result of this is that the natural simplicity of the race is
strengthened rather than weakened. Another effect of it is seen in
his general self-control and temperance. The Turk is by no means as
temperate a man as many suppose him to be; yet what temperance he has
is due primarily to the precepts of his religion. So also he is as a
rule self-contained, not from stolidity, but from principle. He is
above all things else a pure and simple fatalist, acknowledging God’s
absolute control over him and claiming that whatever is, is right. It
is immaterial to him what happens to him. Thus, on the field of battle
he absolutely refuses to recognize danger, and in private life, when
sickness overtakes him, he will frequently make no effort for recovery.
The following incident illustrates, better than any lengthy description
can, the power of this influence.
In the various scourges of cholera that have swept over many parts of
the empire, the Turk has been the most difficult patient to treat. In
the dread time in Constantinople in 1865, when the deaths numbered not
less than a thousand a day, a gentleman on his errand of mercy and of
healing met in the street a young man, who implored him to come into a
room near by and save, if he could, his father. The room was entered,
and there, upon a single quilt upon the floor, lay a Turk, old in
years, but not in strength, of magnificent physique and apparently of
perfect health until attacked by the plague. The disease had secured so
thorough a hold of him that he seemed to be marked for death. As the
medicine was produced he absolutely refused to take it, saying, “If it
is God’s will that I should die, I shall die, and your medicine will
do no good. If it is His will that I shall recover, I shall recover,
and your medicine will be of no use.” Scarcely needless to say the man
died. This same principle also makes him the obedient subject that he
is, and keeps him content with his lot when many another race would be
restless and urgent for revolution.
There are, however, other influences for evil. The very absoluteness
of Islam makes him overbearing and insolent to all who are not of his
own faith. Its exaltation of the sensual paradise frees him from all
restraint in the gratification of his passions. If once his recognized
ecclesiastical leaders, the authorized interpreters of the law, declare
against the authority of the government, he becomes immediately the
most dangerous revolutionist known to history; this in aggression. But
in another sense the same religion develops within him an indolence.
The one word that probably to many a traveler expresses Turkish
character, is the word “kef.” It is an untranslatable word, and denotes
a general condition of indolent and sensuous rather than sensual
enjoyment of different pleasures. In the enjoyment of it he is careless
of the future and the past, and lives only in the present. If urged
to labor in the fields, he says, “What is the use? I have enough for
the moment. Why should I look out for the future?” If appeal is made
to his ambition in the line of intellectual development or wide extent
of prosperity, the same indolent luxuriousness prevents his taking the
slightest trouble to alter his situation. That this indolence should
co-exist with the tremendous fury of the Turkish onslaughts as known in
history, with the atrocious barbarity of the events of the past year,
seems almost incredible, and yet it is true. This same characteristic
appears in still another form. It stands in opposition to any
development of the land. It is epicureanism interpreted in Tartar
language, and we have the Sybarite, with the bare mud floor, a cup of
coffee and a pipe, instead of the luxurious couch and deep potations
of the Roman court. This latter indeed is found where wealth gives
opportunity, but for the distinctive Turkish “kef,” we must look not in
the palace or on the shores of the Bosporus, but in the village and on
the plains of Asia Minor. An illustration is furnished in the refusal
of a Turkish pasha who owned some land on the southern slopes of the
Taurus. When some Europeans came to get a concession for working some
coal mines on his property, he replied, “If God Almighty had intended
that coal to be used, He would put it near the surface where it could
have been got at, not away below, where you have to dig for it. It is
blasphemy to change His plans.” What disturbed the pasha, however, in
truth, was not the blasphemy, but the interference with his “kef.”
It will be seen that the Turk, as is the case with so many other
peoples, is a bundle of contradictions. With some noble qualities he
unites some that are brutal and contemptible in the extreme. Those who
see only the courteous host and the easy, suave diplomat, will defend
him with all their power, while those who have felt the iron heel of
his despotism, and seen the wanton outrage of his lust, find it hard to
think that there can be any good in him. Probably the most typical Turk
of the century is the Sultan himself. To the foreign ambassador, to
the guest whom he delights to honor, he appears a man of kindly, even
benign bearing, sincerely desirous of the welfare of all his people,
sad at their distress, bitterly lamenting the cruel fate that has so
weakened the power of his rule that he cannot do what he would, yet
anxious to do all he can. To the official, however, who has displeased
him, to the peasant in his village who pays him taxes, to the priest
who seeks to perform the rites of his church, he appears a tyrant of
the most unjust and cruel type. Which is correct? In all probability
both. When all goes well, Abdul Hamid, like any other Turk, is kindly,
hospitable, even generous. When, however, adversity comes upon him, and
he finds himself face to face with disaster, not merely to himself, but
to his boasted title of Defender of the Faith, the old Tartar blood
enkindled by the ferocity of the Moslem Arab breaks forth, and he
permits, if he does not directly order, the most atrocious series of
massacres known in history. With capabilities for the best, the Turk
frequently manifests the worst elements in human nature.
[Illustration:
TURKISH PEASANT. They are ordinarily quiet, kindly men, fairly
industrious, but not aggressive. It is only when stirred by fanatical
appeals that they come to be dreaded. They almost all wear charms,
and the cord about the neck is fastened to one such. The turban is a
simple roll of dark cloth about a felt cap.]
[Illustration:
GROUP OF MOUNTAINEERS FROM CENTRAL ASIA MINOR. These are not as
fierce, although fully as brave as the Xeibecks. They form a
considerable element in what are known as the Bashi-Bozouks, or
irregular troops of the Turkish army. They are pure-blooded Turks,
stalwart, powerful men.]