Chapter XVIII: Onlookers Only

And now the time has come for me to return to my native land, I ask myself what have been my final impressions of my life as a Turkish woman. All these weeks, which have slipped by without my noticing their going, I have felt like an actress seated in the theatre, watching another play my part--indeed a restful sensation.

I came here with perhaps just a little of the “downtrodden woman of the East” fallacy left, but that has now completely vanished. To me, an Englishwoman, there are sides of this life which would irritate me into open rebellion. That the customs of the country should have power to make me wear a veil, whether I wished it or not, that I should be forced to travel in a compartment reserved exclusively for women, that I must always have the hood up when I drive in a carriage, that if I chance to stray into a café of the people, I am served in a superior kind of rabbit-hutch, separated by a grating from the opposite sex, that if I go into a tea-shop where there are men, I will be requested to leave, and last, but not least, that I should have to depend for male society exclusively on my blood relations--Heaven indeed forbid!

A Turkish woman asked me once what it felt like to be able to mix freely with men who are not blood relations. “I cannot _tell_,” I answered; “it dates right back to the time when my big brother teased me to tears, and his friend wiped them away. To ask me what it means to mix freely with men is almost like asking what it means to have lungs. I never stopped to think, but I know I should die without them.”

But then, after all, is not everything relative? Had I never known the pleasures of male society, had not circumstances forced me to take my life in my own hands and work out my own destiny, I should not perhaps quarrel with what is part of a Turkish woman’s existence. If we in the West possess what is known as the “joy of liberty,” have not so many of us been denied the blessing of protection? The veiled Turkish woman asks, Can you imagine how distressing it is to be willing to work and for the conventions of the country not to allow it? Many of the poor tired workers of my country might ask, Can you imagine what it is to have to work and not to be able to find work?

All these weeks I have been leading a Turkish existence. I have really tried to put myself in a Turkish woman’s place, but I cannot somehow pity her. Is it that I have been too near the suffering heart of my own countrywomen? “Our lives are so empty,” pointed out one woman. “Really we do not have enough social distractions.” I close my eyes and think of the women of my own country, worn out with a London season and its festivities. In their moments of sincerity they would not tell you they had expended their time and energy only to be bored; but social obligations cannot be taken in moderate doses, you must swallow the whole draught.

“Can you imagine what it is to have longed all your life to hear Wagner and a full orchestra and not to be able?” said one woman; and another, who is an exceedingly good musician, tells me she has no idea of her own value as a pianist, seeing she never had an opportunity of hearing professionals.

But all this is changing, and it is a passionately interesting study to see them taking off the customs of ages to put on something different. How will they appear when next I visit them?

I have called the Turkish woman an “onlooker.” She is at present, as it were, only on the margin of the great life; she understands enough of the game, however, to long to take a part. How will she play that part? Is it absolutely necessary for her to come to us for assistance?

This is the question I have asked so many Turkish women. They must think I argue almost like a reactionary. Yet I have not defended the harem system. There is, however, so much in the Turkish home life which is beautiful that I would prefer to see them progressing on the lines of their own civilization, rather than becoming a poor imitation of us. Let them come to us and learn to organize their studies; the rest they can, if they will, manage for themselves.

But I have a feeling that, except for a very few, Turkish women will not take too kindly to our civilization. When my charming English friends, who reconcile me just a little to Pera, took me to the Dorcas Ball I felt uncomfortable prickings of conscience, going to enjoy myself and leaving my friends at home. I might have saved my regrets, however, for it was they who were sorry for me, having to waste my time dancing till the small hours of the morning with mere acquaintances.

And those Turkish women who have come to Europe? How well they have adapted themselves to our civilization. When they were with us who could have supposed they were wearing hats for the first time? Who could suppose, to hear them speaking our language, to see them threading their way in and out of the traffic of our big capitals, that they had not lived with us all their lives? And yet how glad they were to return to their own home life!

The Turk has always been most severely attacked in Europe on the manner in which he treats his womenkind. He considers them, it is said, “mere possessions.” But surely this is the case with the men of most nations. On what but this is the woman’s rebellion based?

That the Moslem woman has no status, I most emphatically deny. If the Moslem women are “possessions,” they are “cherished possessions” and treated as such. Are Moslem women obliged to exercise the most hideous of professions as are their Christian neighbours? Is there anywhere in the East the terrible degradation of our poor Whitechapel women? It is not because he despises her that the Turk has kept his womankind screened from the world. Her rôle is maternity, therefore the cares and temptations of the world must not be known to her, and nothing ought to interfere with this supreme reason of her existence.

Quite recently a decision of the greatest importance and daring was taken by the Ottoman Government. Without their having to ask, the University was thrown open to women, and they are now attending lectures on gynæcology, hygiene, woman’s rights, etc.

When I heard the news, much as I rejoiced, I could not help making a comparison between the methods of the East and those of the West. Here are these “unspeakable” Turks giving to women privileges for which they have not asked, simply because they are theirs by right, and since they are to take their place as workers in the world, they must be educated. And yet, here in England, much as women have tried to work along the lines of evolution they have been driven to revolution. Is this sex antagonism of their asking? From the beginning of the woman’s movement, every privilege has had to be bought with rebellion.

* * * * *

And now, with reluctance, I close the diary of my existence as a Turkish woman. I have not attempted to give a careful and finished picture of my life here; this is the age of impressions, and the beautiful Eastern colouring would lose much of its warmth, were it not put on fresh from the brush. My boxes are corded and ready, the Messageries Maritimes steamer which brought me here will take me back through the beautiful Sea of Marmora, where the setting sun casts itself in such magnificence on to the water beneath it, and the dolphins bathed in sunlight pop up to greet us as we pass along.

A little Turkish friend is going to Europe with me. Her first hat is in readiness, and when the steamer has gone through the “Dardanelles” she will put it on.

If only I could order the same calm sea which brought me here to take me back again; but I must trust to Providence. All through my visit the glorious sun of Eastern hospitality has been darting its beams upon me--it has been a wonderful experience.

Ah! the beautiful unceremoniousness of the East, the absolute sincerity, the liking of one’s friends for friendship’s sake irrespective of position, and the true brotherhood and democracy of the kindly Turk ... if these qualities must vanish in the inevitable march of progress, then may I never see Turkey again; for, without these qualities, it would no longer be the Turkey I have admired and loved.

AFTER-WORDS

It was Christmas 1913. The Balkan War was over, and Young Turkey had begun with a patriotism born of humiliation to save what remained of the poor mutilated Fatherland. (I have described my impressions of Turkish life during this period.)

At the head of affairs were men who could accept responsibility. Seeds of progress were being sown amongst the ruins. The leaders, who had learnt their lesson from bitter experience and had accomplished so much against terrible odds, could they not now steer the ship of State into the calm waters of prosperity?

Talaat-Djavid and Djémal knew what they wanted. Though confronted with international and internal problems, difficulties of race and religion and financial chaos, yet they kept their heads, and then they made one fatal mistake--that mistake was ENVER PASHA.

Only a year ago Enver was neither Pasha nor the Sultan’s son-in-law nor Minister of War. He was lying seriously ill at the German hospital at Constantinople, and only his great determination to serve his country pulled him successfully through three terrible operations. He had been fighting in spite of appendicitis, and in spite of all kinds of internal complications and bullet wounds. He was brought almost dead from the battlefield--even German surgery had given him up--and yet he would not die. Enver struck one as a picturesque personage. His energy and determination were such new features in Turkish civilization. A fearless and reckless soldier, tall, handsome, a patriot certainly, unintelligent but sincere, hated and loved in so many harems, his picture was to be found draped in the Turkish flag: he was the best selling of picture postcards.

Accompanied by Enver’s great friend and master, Djémal Pasha, I went to visit the Turkish hero in the German hospital. It was then I discovered what Djémal afterwards owned was true, that Enver was totally lacking in initiative and imagination, and that he could only command when he himself was commanded, but no one better than he could obey. “And the revolution of 1908?” I asked. “How splendidly he carried out his orders!” I was told. “He’s a magnificent fellow, and such a man is _indispensable_ to our cause.”

Although weak, Enver discussed many political questions with us, but in everything he agreed with his friend Djémal Pasha, whose sympathies were entirely Franco-British, because, as he explained, and rightly so, Britain and France were the two countries who had no interest to work for Turkey’s destruction. Djémal detested Germany even more than he detested Russia. He loved England, but more than England he loved France and everything French, and French culture and thought, and he once added, “_French money_.” Djémal’s policy was to allow Turkey to be under the greatest obligations to England and France. If only England and France would come forward and do this and that for us, if France would offer us education, if England, as the ruler of our co-religionists, would come nearer to us, where then would be German influence?

The German Mission had just then arrived in Constantinople. My Turkish women friends were much distressed, considering it a humiliation to see their capital thus invaded by Teutons. Indeed, they requested me, in their name, to ask the Government whether the Mission could not be removed to Adrianople. Djémal could not understand the women’s anxiety about Germany. “We have begun with German methods and we must go on,” said he; “but the German mission has no political meaning....” Djémal was always sincere. His god was power. He wanted power above everything.

And so Enver, as a useful _instrument_ of his colleagues, and particularly Djémal, was appointed Minister of War. As their obedient servant in his own reckless manner, he was to obey their orders; he was to sweep out from the War Office old worn-out servants; to make other drastic changes his friends found indispensable; but his rôle was distinctly to obey, not to command. He fulfilled his mission; he _did_ obey, but he changed masters--he gave himself up body and soul, not to his colleagues, but to the German Kaiser.

When Enver so emphatically denied to me the Germanophilism of which he was accused, no doubt he was sincere. He was like a man in love. He, as a soldier of an army suffering from lack of discipline, could not help admiring the German organisation. Their arrogance also appealed to him, and although, as a democrat and a man of the people, he tried to persuade himself to the contrary, he was flattered by the Emperor William’s attention. In Berlin, when military attaché, they, the Germans, made a god of Enver; he left his heart in Germany, too, it is said. He may have tried to escape from this German influence; he simply could not: it was his destiny. He who loved to obey found his master at Potsdam and his master’s representatives at Constantinople--the Ambassador, Baron von Wangenheim, and General Liman von Sanders, head of the German Mission. They took possession of him; he was powerless; as powerless as his ex-master, Djémal, to take a firm stand once more for Franco-British influence.

It was Christmas Eve a year ago. The Turkish heir to the throne invited me _tout à fait sans cérémonie_ to his palace to coffee and to talk to him about my country. Although he could perfectly understand French, he could not speak it; consequently Djémal Pasha was good enough to act as interpreter.

The Prince’s knowledge of everything connected with my country was a pleasant surprise. He admired and loved England. “Whatever political mistakes we may say England has made, however unjustly we may think she has treated us,” said the Prince, “England is still our model. She’s a clean, honour-loving nation, a nation of gentlemen.” These sentiments were shared by the Grand Vizier.

The Prince was not as enthusiastic about France as Djémal Pasha. France to him meant Paris, and Paris was a danger to Young Turkey. “Let our men go to France afterwards, but let them first be sobered down in England,” said he. “French learning may be fine, but England gives a young man character.... English women make their sons men. We want Turks to be men.” To our statesmen the Prince paid tribute; also to our Court, our literature, and our architecture. “It is all aristocratic and solid,” were his words....

The Turkish heir to the throne considered German influence something that did not even come within the range of discussion. “Germany,” said he, “is forty years old; she has yet to be tried.” Then he added, “Britain has shed her blood for us--that we can never forget.”

Such is the opinion of the future Sultan of Turkey about Britain--now Turkey’s enemy--and indeed, he meant every word he said.

And in the harems--does Germany even count? Right in the heart of Asia Minor, they have heard of British honour, but who has heard of Germany? and the name of Britain rests on a prestige which has stood the test of time. That “_all right_” verdict which was given to the English governess--that acceptance of the British word without contract--are facts which count.

An ill-advised Government can lead its country to destruction, but the mighty Kaiser himself cannot crush out this admiration born in the Turks for England.

It is true England and France have never considered Turkey worth while, as Germany has done. I said so to a British official. “We cannot send out retrievers, as Baron Marschall does,” he answered. “We can only offer a straightforward friendship. If the Turks cannot accept that....”

Yet Germany did send her finest diplomatists to Constantinople, and also her picked officers; the Kaiser himself paid court to the Sultan, and on his Eastern tour saw that Moslem feelings and customs were in every way considered. He gave presents of great value to both the Sultan and his Grand Vizier. Kiamil Pasha in his Konak has books of priceless value given to him by the Kaiser, and yet evidently it was of little value, for the veteran statesman of Turkey turned always to England for sympathy. England was the country who could put everything right, and one of his greatest sorrows was that England had not come to Turkey’s assistance in her hour of need.

And Turkey’s quarrel in this case was certainly not with Britain. She was still smarting under what she felt the injustice of giving Mitylene and Chios to Greece. Day and night she was waiting for an opportunity to get back her islands, and day and night she was in terror lest Greece should strike before her Dreadnoughts--ordered in England--were ready. Hakky Pasha, the ex-Grand Vizier of Turkey in London, telegraphed and advised that in spite of Germany’s offer of assistance against Greece, Turkey must remain neutral, and to attack Greece even during the present war classed her at once as anti-British. But it was not what any reasonable statesman wanted, it was what Germany wanted. Turkey was clamouring for war with Greece; instead of this she found that Germany in her name had bombarded an open Russian port! Germany promised her Mitylene and Chios and even Cyprus. She staked her whole fortune on German victory and German honour--and Germany promised to free her from European interference. Now, it is not difficult to calculate what Turkey has gained from the speculation.

It is hard to make out a good case for Turkey, but however bitter one may feel against the foolish Enver and the Young Turkish Government, the Turkish people are not to blame. A friend writing from Turkey tells me Germany left no stone unturned to lead the Government into difficulties. In Anatolia, she spread the false report that the Moslems in the Caucasus were being ill treated by the Russians! Baron von Wangenheim took possession of the press. Enver Pasha, led by Baron von Wangenheim, made short work of those who under the eyes of their new masters declared they had put up too long with this “mad Government.” Djémal Pasha’s orders that the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ should be disarmed were totally disregarded; the German Admiral Suchon was master of the situation, and refused to take on board the Turkish sailors sent by Djémal. Turkey ceased to exist.

The rest of the story is known: the touching “Good-bye” which passed between the British and French Ambassadors and the Grand Vizier, the arrival of three million marks which was Germany’s first instalment of a river of gold she had promised to her faithful Enver. Then a time of waiting and the second instalment of gold--German paper!!! Turkey is now quite aware of the treachery of Germany. But it is too late.

“There is no happiness and no salvation for the Turk,” a dear friend writes me. “However much we try, whatever sacrifices we make, our lot has always been, and always will be, to be sacrificed to the ambitions of the European Powers. Once more Turkey has fulfilled her destiny....”

* * * * *

It was Christmas only a year ago. The land of Islam was wrapped in a mantle of snow. To the quiet harem came Turkish friends from far and near, and together we celebrated the birth of the Saviour of the World. It was a beautifully pathetic Christmas, one of the most interesting and wonderful I ever spent.

The celebration of Christmas in a Moslem home! As a little girl, I longed and dreamed of the day when I should be privileged to tell the Moslems the great and real meaning of Christmas.... And that day had come.

We had a Christmas tree, we played at snapdragon and hunt the slipper and musical chairs. We sang “Auld lang syne,” and to me it was the beginning of a great understanding--a great wide brotherhood--and we promised to spend this Christmas together in the same real Christmas manner....

And that was Christmas a year ago. Could I ever have dreamed where I would be this year? I, who had a year ago explained the beautiful real meaning of Christmas, am here in a French hospital with English nurses helping to repair the ills that Christian nations have done to one another!

What a glorious example for the Moslem peoples! The hideousness of the Christian’s warfare! Is there anything the East can now learn from the West?

There are Christmas trees in all the hospital wards. The English nurses have dressed them ... the bare walls are transformed into a fairyland of ivy and candles and real good Christmas decorations. There are cakes and sweets and fruits and British plum pudding....

Luncheon has ended. These splendid English nurses, who have responded to the French appeal to come and help, ask me for a toast.

“There is only one toast for all thinking humanity,” I reply, and the nurses understand.

The German prisoners are washing up the dishes on which we have eaten our British plum pudding. Poor pathetic souls! Let us distinguish between the criminal and his crime....

And this is the Christmas I promised to spend in Turkey--the land where I have spent so many happy days of my life. And this is the result of the world-famed Teuton _Kultur_.

Beside the crimes of Louvain and Rheims and the poor shivering and hungry refugees who were first wrecked at Havre and then brought on penniless and homeless here to Bordeaux, and all the other crimes for which Germany must answer, I place the betrayal of Turkey. To deliberately lead to destruction a people who made so brave a stand for regeneration, whose patriotism I have so inadequately described, if this is all that civilization can produce--if this is how we illustrate the lessons we have learnt from Bethlehem to Gethsemane--how can we any longer preach that wonderful gospel of peace and goodwill amongst men?

My companions urge this is the darkness before dawn. Behind the clouds and battle smoke the sun is shining. Cruel platitudes in a hospital of eleven hundred wounded soldiers. And when the war is over? Alas, the unending sadness of my surroundings has killed for a while any hope of happiness.

HOSPITAL MILITAIRE DE TALENCE,
BORDEAUX, _Christmas_ 1914.

INDEX

Abdul-Hak-Hamid (Turkish writer), 116

Abdul-Hamid (ex-Sultan of Turkey), 44, 48, 127, 145, 153

Ahmed Riza Bey, 81

Architecture, 188

Aristocracy of the Turks, 21

Baïram, 34

Baise-main ceremony, 33

Balkan War, 202

Bedford College, 67

Beds, 176, 182, 188

Belkis Chefket Hanoum, 82

Birth presents, 91

Bosphorus, 171, 176, 177, 187

Breakfast, 177, 178

British King and Queen, 21

British prejudice, 55, 152

Broussa Lycée, 142

Broussa Village, 148

Browne, Professor E. G., of Cambridge, 104-105

Cadines (Sultan’s wives), 92

Calfat, or slave, 10

Charms, 184

_Cherchez la femme_, 79

Cherif, Stay in the house of a, 192

Chocolate, Description of Miss, 24-25

Christian Church, Attitude of, towards women, 74

Christian Cross, the, 157

Christmas in a Moslem home, 210

Civilizations, Collision between old and young, 83

Classes for women, 78

Coffee, 171

Court ladies, 35

Court officials, 39

Dames de Sion, 118

Death, Natural attitude towards, 50

Divorce easy in Turkey, 85

Djémal Pasha, 31, 60, 61, 81, 202 _et seq._

Djemil Pasha, Prefect of Constantinople, 63

Djevdat Pasha, 110

Dresses, 172

East End of London, 72

Eminé Semié Hanoum, 113

Enver Pasha, 202 _et seq._

Eunuchs, Sale of, 26

Europe, Duty of, towards Turkey, 62

European furniture, 19

Eyoub, 162 _et seq._, 169

Fanaticism, 29, 30

Father of the people, 23

Fâtima Alié Hanoum, 109, 110, 191

Feminist meeting, 64

Feminist Turkish Government, 81

Fitzgerald, translator of Omar Khayyam, 105

Flowers, 185, 186

Football in Turkey, 161

Foreign languages, Knowledge of, 42

France, Anatole, 118

German influence, 204 _et seq._

German Mission, 204

_Goeben_ and _Breslau_, 209

Governments, Comparison between Turkish and British, 80

Grand Vizier, Prince Said Halim, 124

Green Mosque at Broussa, 124

“Hadgi,” 183, 184

Hadgi Vadt, 141

Hair (crowning glory of Turkish women), 86, 172

Hakky Pasha, 208

Halidé-Hanoum, 17, 18, 66, 69, 76, 107, 108

_Hamidieh_ (Warship), 82

Harem, Imperial, 43

Harem shopping, 31

Harem tea-parties, 94

Haremlik, 180, 191

Hasnadar Ousta, 39, 41, 46

Hind (writer), 112

Hospitality of Turks, 23, 173, 174

House, Turkish, 56, 57, 170, 180

Hugo, Victor, 118

Kadinlar-Dunyassi, 65, 114, 115

Kara Kheuz, 141

Kemal, 116

Key, Ellen, 107

Kipling, 118

Lady of Paradise, 111

Lazarists, 118

Leyla (poetess), 111

Leyla Hanoum (modern Turkish writer), 113

Liman von Sanders, General, 205

Loti, Pierre, 90, 118, 124, 125

Marriage, Turkish, 93, 95-8

Married Women’s Property Act in Turkey, 91

Marschall von Bieberstein, the late Baron, 207

Medressa, 126

Mehmeth V., 46

Melek, 116

Menus, Turkish, 59, 60

Messageries Maritimes, 13

Mihri (famous poetess), 112

Military College at Broussa, 83

_Mongal_, 188

Montagu, Lady Mary, 112

Mosque, Sultan Fathij, 167

Mothers-in-law, Turkish, 93, 95

Movement, “Turkey for the Turks,” 20, 68, 71

Navy League, Turkish, 85

Niguar Hanoum, 113

Order of Chefakat, 40

Patriotism, 84

Perote, 14

Photography and Moslem religion, 27

Picnic, A Turkish, 190 _et seq._

Place of honour, 22

Polygamy and Paquin, 57

Pope Leo XIII., 21

Proclamation of Constitution, its effect on
condition of Turkish women, 15

Purity of Turkish women, 109

Quakers, 134

Red Crescent Society, 16, 88, 89

Red Cross Society, 89, 114

Restaurant, Turkish woman’s first, 5

Roses, 185

Roses, Alexandra, 85

Rousseau, J. J., 117, 118

School of Arts and Crafts (Belgian), 161

Selamlik, 180, 189, 191

Selma Hanoum, 81

Servants in Turkish House, 158

Serving coffee, 54

Sèvres china in Imperial Harem, 43

Sheik-ul-Islam, 63

Shinasi Effendi, 115

Slaves, Sale of, 26

Soldiers, Wounded, 87

Suchon, Admiral, 209

Suffragette, Admiration for militant, 77

Sutanna, 128, 129, 132

Swedish drill, 61

Talaat Bey, 31, 61, 63

Talaat-Djavid, 202

Taqui, 173, 177, 178, 181, 185

Theatre, Turkish, 75

Tolerance towards all religions, 156

Turkish baths, 146

Turkish defeat, Reasons for, 144

Turkish language, Ignorance of, 66

Validé-Sultana, 92

Vatran, 116

Veil, Tyranny of the, 76

Veils no protection, 69, 70

Vigny, 118

_Visites de cérémonie_, 182

Voltaire, 118

Wangenheim, Baron von, 205, 209

Wells, H. G., 118

Wilhelm II. of Germany, 205

Womanhood, Society for elevation of, 64

Woman’s rôle according to the Koran, 68

Yali, on the shores of the Bosphorus, 187

Young Turkey, Unfair criticism of, 157

Zeyneb, 29, 90, 106, 116, 154, 155, 187, 188, 189

Zeyneb (professor at the University of Baghdad), 111

* * * * *

PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Footnotes have been moved to the end of each chapter and relabeled consecutively through the document.

Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are mentioned, except for the frontispiece.

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

The source scans for this ebook do not include the two illustrations shown in the List of Illustrations as facing page 82, and other available online scans of the original hard copy of the book also do not include these illustrations.