Chapter III: Part 3

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.

They were of course of great help to us when we were settling down in our house in Stamboul. Ours was a large stone house with nine good-sized rooms, one on the ground floor and four on each other floor. It had a large brick-covered entrance hall with two separate stairways which in the old days were used, one as the Harem stairway and the other as the Selamlik stairway, but of course we modernized this by using one of them for service. The walls and ceilings had been all replastered and with the exception of the entrance hall which was painted in Turkish blue, were all calsomined in gray. Of course we had electric light throughout and a telephone. The real innovation for Constantinople, however, was that we changed the kitchen from the basement, where it generally is located, to the first floor, near the dining-room where we had a regular American kitchenette built. Then we had a shower put in the spacious bathroom. So really the house is as comfortable as possible. As for the furniture, we had mostly some of the antique furniture collected by my father and myself in Western Europe, with here and there some Turkish embroideries, old pieces that have been in the family for many generations, and of course Turkish and Persian carpets. Despite our western furniture and some pictures we have on the walls we endeavoured to keep throughout the Oriental atmosphere of the house--not the kind of Turkish interior one sees in exhibitions, adorned with a lot of bric-a-brac and hangings, but the simple Oriental interior. This has been rather an easy task as our house is typically Turkish with large rooms of perfect proportions and big latticed windows. Therefore, by just placing a very few pieces of furniture in each room, by having straight hangings of pale Oriental colours in the windows, and by placing the few really valuable Turkish antiques in the most prominent place in each room, we have tried to keep the Turkish atmosphere which has so much charm and without which it would be sacrilegious to live in Stamboul, especially in a house like the one we have. Our friends and our guests have told us that we have succeeded in our endeavours and I believe this to be true, as an American lady with whom we have grown to be very good friends since; confided us that the first day she called on us bringing with her a letter of introduction from a mutual friend she was struck by the severe Turkish atmosphere of our house and--it being her first day in Constantinople and her imagination being full of all the horrid things she had heard about the Turks in America--she was rather nervous until she met my wife who breezed in to greet her in a perfectly American way. Needless to say that a short while after she was laughing with us at the reputation of being “terrible” which the Turks have abroad.

Certainly no one who has lived in Stamboul can even conceive where this reputation originated. Stamboul is the Turkish section of the city and is peopled exclusively by Turks. Its streets are so quiet, its crowds are so calm, that they really deserve much more the adjective of “peaceful” than that of “terrible.” Anyone who has been in Constantinople prefers Stamboul to any other section of the city with the possible exception of some parts of Nishantashe which are also exclusively inhabited by Turks and have therefore the same atmosphere of peace and quiet one finds in Stamboul.

Stamboul has the dignity of a queen. It has the same refinement, the same poise, the same nobility that a great lady always has no matter what her circumstances. Many of the houses are tumbling down. Alas! too many of the people living there are shabbily dressed--nay even some of them are now in rags. But her smallest streets, her humblest shacks have an inexpressible dignity which is at once apparent. Stamboul is a thoroughbred. Despite her misery and her intense sufferings, despite all her ruins and the poverty of her inhabitants, Stamboul is a queen. She has a soul of her own, very much alive and very compassionate--a soul which appeals to foreigners and to the Turks alike--perhaps because of the feeling of love and compassion which emanates from her and wins for her the hearts of Turks and foreigners. She loves her children: more than thirty thousand families have in the last ten years seen their houses destroyed by fire but somehow or other not one member of those thirty thousand families has remained without shelter. Stamboul has provided them with a roof and there they are, all her children, somewhat crowded it is true, but all living within her hospitable walls. She loves the foreigners and receives them with the greatest hospitality, she adopts those who can understand her and treats them even better than her own children: she has named, two of her streets after Pierre Loti and Claude Farrère, her great French friends, so that their names will remain forever alive within her walls. All who come to her fall in love with her, and my wife and myself fell immediately under her spell: she is so good, so sad, so peaceful!

Our house is on one of her principal streets, a wide avenue which leads to the Sublime Porte and then on to the Mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud. The avenue, like most of the principal streets of Stamboul, is bordered with old plane trees where pigeons, and nightingales, have made their home. From our windows we see the court of the Sublime Porte, a big tumbled-down building where all the principal government departments are concentrated. The gates of the Sublime Porte are night and day guarded by Turkish soldiers and policemen, clean-cut young Turks, tanned from the sun and the invigorating air of their birthplace in Anatolia. Every hour of the day or of the night two of them tramp before the gate opposite our house, in rain or in sunshine, in snow or in fog. At the corner of the court there is a little mosque built especially for their use so that they can go five times a day to prayer. Five times a day the “muezzin” appears atop the slender minaret and in his soulful chant calls the soldiers and the neighbourhood to prayer and they all pray: when the sun rises and when it goes down, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the afternoon and in the middle of the night. Five times a day they give thanks to the Almighty, fervently confirm their faith that there is no god but God, and beg Him to assist them in following the straight path, the path to salvation. Can people of this kind be as black as they are represented abroad? Is it not monstrous to accuse them of so many dark crimes? Is it not criminal to even give credence--without investigating--to all of the deeds they are represented as doing by people who must have an ulterior motive? For my part I can't believe these people capable of even hurting a fly or of killing a wolf, unless it be in self-defense and I can truthfully say that my belief is not based on sentimental reasons or influenced by patriotic motives. I know the people, I have watched them for days and months from our windows in Stamboul, these Turkish peasant soldiers of Anatolia; I have read in their eyes only resignation, passivity, and love. I have seen how they treat little children, how they take care of poor stray dogs. No, they cannot possibly harm anyone unless it be in self-defense.

From the upper story of our house we can see the entrance of the Bosphorus, that enchanting piece of blue water which lures all that have seen it once. We see it through the branches of trees, between the Sublime Porte and a brick building on the left, the headquarters of some newspaper. Towering above it are the houses of Galata and Pera forming an amphitheatre much more pleasing to the eye at a distance than from nearby. We also see the dark-green trees of the park of the Old Seraglio, where a few slender towers, a few slanting gray roofs mark the position of its imperial buildings. Truly our house is situated in the heart of Stamboul, that is why we can feel it throbbing so plainly, that is why we can learn to know her so well.

The famous Santa Sophia, the Mosque of Sultan Ahmed with its six slender minarets, the Square of the Hippodrome, where the decadent emperors of Byzance held horse races nearly six centuries ago, even the famous bazaars are all within our range, almost within view of our house and we pass our first weeks after we have settled in visiting all these places, not as tourists, but for the purpose of knowing them, of communing with them so that we will feel that we have become one with our surroundings. We go time and again to the Old Seraglio, whose nooks and corners become as familiar to us as if we had lived there, the Old Seraglio whose every building, every kiosk, every room is still alive with the history of Turkey's past grandeur, whose garden still glows with the life of all the great Sultans and of their courtiers who lived and died there. From its outer court with its long alley of tall cypresses and poplars gently swaying to the breeze as if bewailing past splendours, from its outer Council Room where generations of grave Pashas robed in sable furs covered with silk brocades and with bejeweled turbans have discussed affairs of State and international policies while powerful Sultans were listening from behind the golden lattices of a small balcony, from the informal audience room from which a Sultan chased the Ambassador of Louis XIV, King of France, for having dared to sit in his presence, to the court where another Sultan was murdered by his Janissaries, to the Kiosk of the Lilacs to the laboratory where learned doctors prepared drugs for their august masters, to the very trunk of the old plane tree in the shade of which a resentful Sultan signed the decree condemning to death one of his generals who had failed to capture Vienna, and to the marble terrace of the Badgad kiosk where a poet Sultan improvised his immortal verses to his Sultana, the place seems to be full of living shadows and remembrances. It seems as if it were only asleep and semi-consciously waiting a signal to people again all its buildings and its gardens with Princes and soldiers continuing their interrupted earthly existence.

We go time and again to all the different mosques of the neighbourhood, places renowned the world over for their architecture and which are so impregnated by the prayers Which generations of faithful believers have made within their walls five times a day for centuries and centuries, that they vibrate with spirituality and force you to meditation--not a sad meditation with visions of everlasting fires to expiate earthly sins, but encouraging meditation which whispers into your ears that God who has created such beautiful surroundings for a city like Constantinople, God who has given the power to human beings to conceive and construct such cheerful and elevating temples of worship and prayer cannot and will not create another life where the miseries of this one are continued and multiplied eternally. A meditation which makes you realize that if winter comes, spring cannot be far behind!

Then again we go often to the Bazaars, not necessarily to hunt for antiques or to purchase things, but to get acquainted with the little old shopkeepers, the second-hand booksellers with white beards and turbans, sitting placidly in their small stores surrounded by books--hand-written books in Turkish, Arabic or Persian, illuminated with delicate multi-hued designs and covered with priceless old leather bindings; little old shopkeepers who receive you as a guest and as a friend, offer you tea and talk with you for hours on such and such a book, this or the other school of philosophy, this or the other Arabic, Persian or Turkish writer--without even thinking of selling you a book. In our visits to the Bazaars we carefully avoid the Jew, Armenian or Greek antique dealers hunting in the covered streets of the place for foreigners and other easy prey. After a visit or two we are known even by them and we can freely wander in the streets without being molested by their employees who try to induce strangers to visit their shops. We make friends with two or three dealers in the Bedesten, the central hall of the Bazaars, a huge circular place covered with a round dome where stands are like wide shelves and where shopkeepers sit cross-legged surrounded by genuine works of art, jewels and furniture piled in a beautiful disorder one on top of the other. We make friends with a few of these vendors--old men who have kept their stands since their early youth, people who knew my father, or an uncle or a cousin of mine, who adopt us as if we were one of them. Thereafter we have no more need of worrying; if we want to purchase something we have only to tell them and they will get it for us if it exists in Stamboul, if we see something that we want in one of the antique stores and are afraid that it is not genuine or that the storekeeper will ask us a price above its real value, we just have to speak of it to one of our friends and he will expertise it for us and purchase it for us at its real value. You see we are related to the late Reshad Bey--may the Mercy of God be on his soul--and all these old merchants were friends of his, and he had through their offices and with their cooperation made the most precious collection of Turkish antiquities that exists to this day in Constantinople and for the peace of Reshad Bey's soul, for friendship to him, these good old people want to help us whenever they can.

Thus we have gradually entered into the inner life of Stamboul and identified ourselves with it. And we love it the more for the way it has treated us. But who would not? People in Stamboul are so different from those in Pera. Even the ordinary storekeepers, the butcher, the grocer and the candlestick maker are honest and courteous here, whereas honesty and politeness are as rare in Pera as the mythical stone of the Alchemists. The Levantines, Greeks and Armenians of Pera think they have found a speedier and better way to change everything they touch into gold, and judging by their prosperity their system may be efficient in so far as it secures gains. But the Turks in Stamboul do not worry about material gains. All they want is peace and tranquillity. And how can you secure peace with your neighbours, how can you secure the tranquillity of your own mind if you are not courteous to every one and if you are not honest?

So it is a real pleasure to go shopping in Stamboul and we absolutely avoid Pera when we want or need anything. One can find everything in Stamboul when one knows where to look for it. We have found even English and American chintz for the curtains of our bedrooms and at half the price we would have to pay for them in Pera. The little cabinet maker around the corner has restored one of our Chippendale chairs, which was broken on its way from America, so well that the repairs cannot be detected even after a very close scrutiny. And the funny part of it is that he never had seen a Chippendale chair before in his life.

Right near our house is a shoe-store. I realized one Sunday morning that I had forgotten to cash a cheque the previous day and as the banks were closed and cheques are very little used in Turkey, my wife and I were wishing we were in America where we could have cashed one at a hotel, a club or even a store where we were known. I decided to take a chance and send our man with a cheque for ten Turkish pounds to the shoe-store to ask if they would cash it for me. A few minutes later our man came back with the cheque--and with the ten pounds, the storekeeper having absolutely refused to accept the cheque on the grounds that he had entire confidence in us, that he was sure we would pay him back next day or the day after, and that his retaining the cheque would be tantamount to mistrusting us. I could not help thinking that it takes an honest man to have confidence in the honesty of some one else and one has all the time such proofs of honesty when one deals with the small Turkish traders. I must admit however that they have two standards of principles when it comes to naming a price for their merchandise or for their services: the first standard which applies to their steady customers and to Turks exclusively and which is one of strict honesty satisfied with a very small margin of legitimate gain--the steady customers and the Turks know that this means one price only and do not begrudge them their small profits or try to beat them down by bargaining--the other standard is the one they apply in their dealings with foreigners or with a casual client, it consists in asking for a much larger profit, leaving enough margin to indulge in bargaining. I must also add in the defense of the small Turkish dealer that he is obliged to have recourse to this second standard especially in dealing with foreigners, purely and simply in self-defense. I have still to find a foreigner who will step into a shop in Turkey and pay without haggling over the price first asked by the merchant. This is always a source of wonderment to me as very often the foreigner who begrudges a paltry ten per cent profit to the Turkish merchant is the same one who pays without the slightest protest twenty-five or fifty per cent profit in his own town to a retailer who has had the good sense to advertise himself as having only one price for his goods.

Anyhow, in Stamboul we never have to complain of the manner in which we are treated by our suppliers, and when we deal with them we feel that we have an individuality of our own and are not just a name or a number which has to be served. We are friends who have to be pleased. That is one of the reasons why we love Stamboul so much, and why Stamboul is loved by all who have lived there. One becomes identified with the quarter one lives in, one becomes part of it, one gets to know and to be known at least by sight by every one who lives in the same quarter: the policemen on the beat, the night watchman, the storekeepers, the neighbours--all know each other and take a personal interest in helping each other. There is a spirit of friendship, an “esprit de corps” among all members of the same community.

The community in which we live is possibly exceptional in one respect and that is that it is the center not only of Government circles, but also of publicists and doctors. Stamboul even in its living quarters is very markedly divided into sections where people of a certain trade, a certain education or of a certain walk in life live in communities distinct from each other. Ours is an intellectual community, all the big doctors, physicians and surgeons and all the writers, publicists and newspapermen live here, while the people of the Government come every day to the Sublime Porte opposite our house. The result is that after a short while we have a circle of neighbours and friends who make it a practise to drop in informally once in a while to visit with us. There are no official visitors, but friends who come in to pass away the time in case you have nothing better to do and the informality is such that they do not feel hurt if you cannot receive them. If by any chance you have some formal party going on, they themselves do not desire to stay. So it is perfectly charming and agreeable. So much the more since these people are all interesting people: men and women who know things and who are doing things and who shun small talk or gossip. It is a remarkable thing how little gossip there is in these cliques of Stamboul and this is a relief and a great difference from the cliques of Pera. True, the people here are not social people in the foreign sense of the word: they are people who do things and who desire to exchange ideas, constructive and profitable ideas.

They generally come in late in the afternoon, when the Sublime Porte is closing. They have to pass before our house, and every once in a while some one of our friends stops in at tea time. After dinner we receive the visits of our immediate neighbours, doctors and publicists, if we have nothing else to do or if we do not ourselves call on some neighbours. Of course these calls are not an every-day occurrence, they happen about two or three times a week and help to pass the time in a most pleasant way, as we have on our list of steady callers people interested in different lines, philosophic and religious thoughts as well as scientific and political thoughts.

So we are now finally settled and are leading a very quiet, interesting life, right in the midst of our Stamboul, right among the Turks; not any more the Stamboul and the Turks of Pierre Loti or of Claude Farrère, but a Stamboul which has suffered and is suffering much, a Stamboul which is thinking and feeling deeply, and among Turks who are passing through a transition period of passive development--chrysalises of the Near East which may soon develop into sturdy butterflies with large wings and whose one ambition is to carry their race, their country and their associates as high as the ideals towards which their constructive imagination is now soaring.

VII

BUSINESS IN CONSTANTINOPLE

Now that we have a house which we can call our home we are able to lead an organised life. Our daily routine varies little but it certainly is a relief to settle down and take things easily after having lived like gypsies for so many months. I go to my office every morning--everybody works or at least tries to work now in Constantinople. I had good luck in finding proper quarters for the office at a short distance from home so that it does not take more than ten minutes' walk to go to work and I can come back every day to lunch. In the mornings my wife is busy with the thousand and one duties so easily devised by any woman who takes a real interest in her home and when I come to lunch by noon everything is ready for a quiet meal “en tête-a-tête,” followed by twenty minutes or half an hour of restful conversation. It is so nice to cut the day with a short recreation of this kind, well earned by both of us. It makes one more alive for the work of the afternoon and for the sake of having this short recreation we very seldom ask any one to lunch. However, ours is a Turkish house and it always remains open to guests, and we are ready to entertain any one who drops in to share our meal. This is the custom, but every one is brought up not to take undue advantage of the privilege, so friends or relations do not drop in at lunch time more often than once in a great while.

When I again leave my wife for the office in the afternoon she generally sees some friends or goes out shopping, but she is always at home when I return in the evenings at half-past five or six. We work rather late in the offices here.

Business life in Constantinople is a rather exacting thing nowadays. It is unquestionably most interesting, but there is such competition, such a scramble for work that one has to hustle to hold one's own. Unfortunately we live in a century of commercialism and trade, and no matter where one is one has to take an active part in the universal struggle for life. The unfortunates who have to earn a living are the actors in this struggle and have to devote their days, their years, their whole life to business, no matter if they are in America or in England, in Italy or in France, in Turkey or in China. In some countries many go in business for a pastime. But in others--as in Turkey--most of those who are in business have entered it only because they had to. They would much prefer, if they could afford it, to pass their time in the pursuit of some more elevating and morally profitable occupation. Dire necessity has compelled practically every one now in business in Turkey to take it up, men, women and children. I do not think that deep in their hearts the Turks really relish this, but they have a sort of a feeling that as long as everybody else is doing it, as long as this is a century where only material progress counts, as long as there is an urgent necessity to earn money, well they have to try to make the best of it. They have come to this conclusion only in recent years, and I believe that this is the only real good that the war has done to Turkey and the Turks. When I left Constantinople for America, ten or twelve years ago, there were very few Turks in business. Commerce, finance and industry was, and had been for centuries, the exclusive realm of the non-Turkish elements of the empire. Perhaps this explains the reason why Turkey and the Near East did not enjoy a very good business reputation in foreign countries--a handicap which it will take some time still to overcome. It will require years and years before foreign business men will realize that trustworthy and reliable people can be found in Turkey to deal with, now that the Turks are in business--just as it required years and years for the Chinamen to change the opinion of foreigners on the risks of Chinese business. Most traders who knew about the unsatisfactory results obtained in the past in Chinese trade were prejudiced against Chinese business without realizing that they had dealt through Japanese or half-bred Far Eastern firms. When the Chinese entered personally into international business the foreigners gradually lost their prejudice but it took some time.

The fact that the Turks have not entered into business until comparatively recently is not at all due to laziness or indolence. It is rather due to two distinct causes which must be mentioned here to render full justice to the Turkish race. The first is a moral cause. The religion, the education and the Asiatic origin of the Turks have led them to look upon life more like a road that should be used to reach spiritual attainments than like an opportunity to obtain material gains. Spiritual attainments are eternal--those who accumulate them in this life continue their progress in the other with a useful capital and with assets that really count. Material gains are perishable and those who accumulate them in this life cannot take them into the other. Why should I therefore use my time and energy to accumulate things that will be useful to me only during this life which, after all, is only an infinitesimal part of my eternal existence. Accustomed to think and to reason thus the Turks have become a race indifferent to material gains and ambitious only for spiritual gains, and they have naturally enough disdained business. In fact, they have for centuries looked down upon commerce and finance and have purposely avoided competing in these activities with the less spiritual but far more materialistic non-Turkish elements of the Near East.

The second cause is political or historical. At the time of the conquest of Constantinople nearly six centuries ago, and when for the first time Turkey acquired--to her misfortune--a large non-Turkish population, Sultan Mehemet IV. desired to give a proof of his magnanimity and, in a spirit of justice, not only recognised the entire freedom of religion of the newly subjected non-Turkish races, but even exempted them from all duties towards the state. The non-Turkish elements were only called upon to pay a yearly tribute to the Empire and outside of this were left entirely free to look after themselves. When it is realized that these religious and political privileges were graciously granted by the Turks to conquered races generations before the Spanish Inquisition--when the Christian conquerors of Spain tried to impose Christianity on the conquered Arabs and Hebrews through hair-raising tortures--and centuries before the religious wars of Europe--when Catholic and Protestant majorities tried to impose their individual dogma upon each other through massacres and torture without considering racial or even family ties--the broadmindedness and justice of the Turkish conquerors becomes apparent. Be it also said incidentally that when it is realized that these political and religious privileges granted by the Turks in 1453 have survived nearly five long centuries, the stories of all these Christian persecutions will be somewhat discredited and will be considered at least as greatly exaggerated as the news of the death of Mark Twain.

Be that as it may, the fact is that the granting of these privileges placed on the shoulders of the Turks the heavy burden of all military and governmental duties while the non-Turkish elements went through centuries free from any obligation. Of course they were free to participate in the governmental civil service if they chose to do so, but their sense of allegiance to the country was not strong enough and their greediness was too strong to induce them to undertake duties to which they were not forced. Rather than to take care of the common wealth of the nation they preferred to take care of their own individual wealth and as commerce, finance and industry developed through the centuries the non-Turkish elements of the country obtained a solid economic grip and used it in their endeavours to choke the Turks.

The democratic revolution of 1908 started the economic awakening of the Turks. The governmental reorganisation which took place at that time threw on their own resources many Turkish families who had until then depended for their living on salaries earned by their, members as government employees. To support their family these people had to go into business. Later the various wars of Turkey, involving losses of vast territories, necessitated further curtailment in the number of civilian and military employees of the Government. This further increased the Turkish participation in the business life of the country. Finally the general war which resulted in tremendous territorial losses for Turkey as well as in the complete emancipation of women brought about a very forceful nationalistic awakening in all forms of activity. The slogan “Turkey for the Turks” invaded general business and gave such a tremendous impetus to the Turks that it was a very great surprise to me--and a very gratifying one--to witness at my return the extent to which my people have succeeded in obtaining a foothold in the business life of the country. The great majority of the Turks are now in business, men and women. In all the shops and offices of Stamboul, in quite a few stores and offices of Pera and Galata you see Turkish girls at work behind counters or at desks, some working on big ledgers, others pounding on typewriters. All the Turkish working-girls dress very simply in demure little black frocks, their hair covered with the becoming “charshaf” with a thin veil rakishly thrown over it. It gives to their faces a soft, dark frame from under which a few mischievous blonde or black locks openly laugh at the old customs.

Of course there are many more Turkish men than women in business. Many Turkish trading firms have been formed, many Turkish factories are now operating and there are even quite a few small Turkish banks. All these firms employ Turks almost exclusively. Thus gradually the Turks are reclaiming the business of their own country from those who have had it for centuries and as the Turks are really the only stable and reliable element of the Near East they will surely obtain finally the lead in Near Eastern business matters. The process will be slow as the competition the Turks have to contend with is extremely strong and very often not fair. But their business ability should not be gauged by the time they will require to take a preponderant position in Near Eastern business. They have as rivals Jews, Armenians and Greeks who have the benefit of many centuries of experience plus old established organizations. An old saying states that it takes one Jew to fool two Christians, one Armenian to fool two Jews and one Greek to fool two Armenians. The non-Turkish conception of good business in the Orient is principally to fool those one is dealing with and Greeks, Armenians and Jews are now more than ever trying to “deal” with the Turks!

The principal Turkish business center is, of course, in Stamboul and the location of my office gives me the double advantage of being near my home and among my own people. My office is right at the foot of the hill of the Sublime Porte. It is near the station and almost on the water front. Big transit warehouses for merchandise to be transshipped to and from Black Sea ports are just opposite our building, but as the warehouses are low they do not impair in any way the view I have from my windows. In fact the view is so gorgeous and so little inducive to work that I have turned my desk so that I have the window and the view at my back. I believe that with such a view as the one we have in Constantinople and with the climate we enjoy, business here will never reach the intensiveness of business in London or in New York, despite the fact that geographically speaking Constantinople commands a more important economic position than any other city in the world being as it is astride two continents. While the atmosphere of New York is so full of electricity that one is forced to be on the go practically all the time, and while the fog of London makes it almost a physical pleasure to remain at work within the four walls of a cosy office, the climate of Constantinople relaxes one's nerves and its gorgeous scenery, its beautiful Oriental sky have an irresistible, softening appeal, calling to the outdoors, to repose or to contemplation, according to one's individual temperament. Although it does not make people lazy, it renders them somewhat easy-going. They do not, they cannot struggle with as much intensiveness as in New York or in London.