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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c9c382 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66019 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66019) diff --git a/old/66019-0.txt b/old/66019-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c691d25..0000000 --- a/old/66019-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8211 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Child of the Orient, by Demetra Vaka - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Child of the Orient - -Author: Demetra Vaka - -Release Date: August 9, 2021 [eBook #66019] - -Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHILD OF THE ORIENT *** - - - - - -A CHILD OF THE ORIENT - - - - -_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - SOME PAGES FROM THE LIVES OF TURKISH WOMEN - - IN THE SHADOW OF ISLAM - - ETC. - - - - -A CHILD OF THE ORIENT - - BY DEMETRA VAKA - - LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY - TORONTO: BELL AND COCKBURN. MCMXIV - - - - -_Turnbull & Spears, Printers, Edinburgh_ - - - - - To - - TRUMBULL WHITE - - EDITOR AND FRIEND, WHOSE APPRECIATION - AND ENCOURAGEMENT - HELPED TO SMOOTH THE HARD ROAD - OF A BEGINNER - - - - -CONTENTS - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. THE TOKEN 3 - - II. ECHOES OF 1821 8 - - III. OTHER FACES, OTHER PHASES 15 - - IV. DJIMLAH 24 - - V. WE AND THEY 30 - - VI. AUNT KALLIROË 36 - - VII. IN THE HOLLOW OF ALLAH’S HAND 46 - - VIII. YILDERIM 60 - - IX. I AM REMINDED OF MY SONS AGAIN 73 - - X. THE GARDEN GODDESS 85 - - XI. MISDEEDS 110 - - XII. HOW I WAS SOLD TO ST GEORGE 118 - - XIII. THE MASTER OF THE FOREST 133 - - XIV. ALI BABA, MY CAÏQUE-TCHI 157 - - XV. MY LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN 166 - - XVI. CHAKENDÉ, THE SCORNED 193 - - XVII. A GREAT LADY OF STAMBOUL 212 - - XVIII. THE INVENTIVENESS OF SEMMEYA HANOUM 221 - - XIX. THE CHIVALRY OF ARIF BEY 233 - - XX. IN THE WAKE OF COLUMBUS 251 - - XXI. IN REAL AMERICA 266 - - XXII. BACK TO TURKEY 282 - - - - -A CHILD OF THE ORIENT - -CHAPTER I - -THE TOKEN - - -On the morning of my fifth birthday, just as I awoke from sleep, my -grand-uncle came into my room, and, standing over my bed, said with a -seriousness little befitting my age: - -“To-day, _despoinis_, you are five years old. I wish you many -happy returns of the day.” - -He drew up a chair, and sat down by my bed. Carefully unfolding a piece -of paper, he brought forth a small Greek flag. - -“Do you know what this is?” - -I nodded. - -“Do you know what it stands for?” - -Before I could think of an adequate reply, he leaned toward me and said -earnestly, his fiery black eyes holding mine: - -“It stands for the highest civilization the world has ever known. It -stands for Greece, who has taught the world. Take it and make your -prayers by it.” - -I accepted it, and caressed it. Its silky texture pleased my touch. -Its heavenly blue colour fascinated my eyes, while the white cross, -emblem of my religion as well as of my country, filled my childish -heart with a noble thrill. - -My grand-uncle bent over nearer to me. - -“In your veins flows the blood of a wonderful race; yet you live, as I -have lived, under an alien yoke--a yoke Asiatic and uncivilized. The -people who rule here to-day in the place of your people are barbarous -and cruel, and worship a false god. Remember all this--and hate them! -You cannot carry this flag, because you are a girl; but you can bring -up your sons to do the work that remains for the Greeks to do.” - -He left his chair, and paced up and down the room; then came again and -stood beside my bed. - -“Sixty-one years ago we rose. For nine consecutive years we fought, and -to-day two million Greeks are free--and Athens, with its Acropolis, is -protected by this flag. But the greater part of the Greek land is still -under the Mussulman yoke, and St Sophia is profaned by the Mohammedan -creed. Grow up remembering that all that once was Greece must again -belong to Greece; for the Greek civilization cannot and must not die.” - -He went away, leaving me with thoughts too vast for a child of five -years, too big for a child who was not even strong. Yet even at that -age I knew a great deal about the past of Greece, and better yet did I -know of the fight of those nine years, which had made the little flag -I was caressing again a flag among free nations. I folded and unfolded -the miniature flag, which my sons must some day carry forward. - -It was the last day of February. Outside a storm was raging. I could -hear the angry Sea of Marmora beating violently against the coast, as -if it would fain annihilate with its liquid force the solidness of the -earth. And the rain, imitating the sea, was beating mightily against -the window-panes, while the wind was forcing the tall, stalwart pines, -to bend humbly to the earth. Half of the elements were doing violence -to the other half--as if they were Greeks destroying the Turks, or -Turks oppressing the Greeks. - -It was a gloomy birthday, yet an exaltation possessed me. I kept on -stroking the little flag. I loved it, and with all the fervour of my -five years I vowed to do my duty by it. - -The door opened softly, and Kiamelé, my little Turkish attendant, came -in. Quickly I tucked away the tiny flag. - -“Good morning, Rose Petal.” She kneeled by my bed, and, putting her -arms around me, smothered me with kisses. “So we are five years old -to-day--pretty old, I declare! We shall be looking for a husband very -soon. And now show me what the grand-uncle gave you.” - -Her face was droll and piquant. Her eyes possessed infinite capacity -for expression. That I loved her better than anyone else at the time -was undeniable. And only a few minutes ago I had been told to hate her -race. - -I entwined my fingers with hers. “Do you love me, Kiamelé?” I asked. - -“After Allah, I love none better.” - -“I wish you did love me better than Allah,” I said, “for then I could -make you a Christian.” - -She shook her head drolly; “No, no, I like Allah.” - -“But then,” I protested, “if you like Allah, you must hate me.” - -“Hate you! You, whom I love better than my heart!” - -“You’ve got to; for I am a Greek, and you are a Turk.” - -She folded me in her arms. “What a funny baby--and this on your -birthday! Now don’t talk foolishness. Show me your presents.” - -From under my pillow, where I had tucked it, I produced the little flag. - -She gazed at it, her head cocked on one side. - -“What’s this?” - -“This,” I said with emphasis, “is the flag of my country--and my -birthday present.” - -“What a funny present,” she murmured. “And is this all the grand old -gentleman gave you?” - -I was disappointed at her reception of it, and to save my little flag -from feeling the mortification I hugged it and kissed it. I wanted very -much to explain to Kiamelé all that it stood for, and how my sons some -day must carry it forward; but how could I, since to show my allegiance -to that flag I must hate her, my bestest of friends? So I said nothing, -and on that, my fifth birthday, I began to see that battles did not -only exist between people, storms did not only rage among the elements -of nature, but that heart and mind could be at such variance as to -cause conflicts similar to those taking place outside my window. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -ECHOES OF 1821 - - -Owing to certain circumstances, I was not living with my immediate -family, but was under the care of my father’s uncle. He and I lived -on one of those islands that rise high above the Sea of Marmora; and -our near horizon was the Asiatic coast of Turkey, which stretched -itself in the blue waters like a beautiful odalisk. We lived in an old -huge house, which belonged to him, and was far away from any other -habitation. The sea was in front, the mountains behind, and thick -woodland on the other two sides. - -From the time I could remember my uncle conversed with me as if I were -grown-up, yet I felt that he held me in contempt because I was a girl -and could not carry arms. Life contained nothing for him beyond the -hope of waging warfare against the Turks. - -He had been only a lad in 1821 when the Greeks had risen in desperation -to throw off the Mussulman yoke. Enlisting among the first, he had -fought during the entire nine years. Subsequently he fought in every -one of the uprisings of Crete. When not fighting, he was back in -Turkey, in his home, where he thought, studied, and sometimes wrote -inflammatory articles for the Greek reviews. - -At times he had tremendous physical suffering, mementoes of his many -battles. On those days I did not see him. He possessed that noble and -rare quality of being ashamed of his bodily ailments. But after my -fifth birthday I was present on many days when mental anguish possessed -him. On such days he would stride up and down his vast gloomy rooms, -talking of the Greek race and of the yoke under which so large a part -of it was living. - -He would stand by the window and tell me about Crete, pointing, as if -the island were visible from where he stood--and I believe that in -spite of the distance, he actually saw it, for it was ever present in -his mind, and he knew every corner of it. - -“There it lies,” he would say, “lapped by the waves of the -Mediterranean; but were the mighty sea to pass over it, it could not -wash away the noble Cretan blood which drenches it. It is soaked with -it, and it will be blood-soaked until the Mussulman yoke has been -wrenched from it--or till there is no more Cretan blood to shed.” - -Or he would cry out: “Don’t you hear the shrieks of the Cretan women -as they leap into the foaming sea, holding fast to their hearts -their little ones? Yes! they would rather meet their death in the -merciless but clean sea, than fall, living, into the hands of the vile -Turkish soldiery. Oh! my God--my Christian God--how can you permit it?” - -He would bow his head on his arms and remain motionless, until the -feeling which was choking him had passed. Then, in a subdued tone, he -would resume: - -“Crete! Crete! brave, indomitable Crete--always victorious, yet always -handed back to the Turks by Christian Europe. My beautiful Crete, when -shalt thou be free?” - -It was on such days that he exhorted me to remember the little Greek -flag he had given me, and all that it stood for. On other days, when he -was calmer, he took me systematically with him through the entire nine -years of the Greek revolution, and by him I was carried through all its -glorious battles. - -He had fought first under the leadership of Marco Bozaris, and he -entertained for this heroic chief an admiration amounting to worship. - -“We were only a handful, mostly lads, at first,” he would say, with a -happy smile on his saddened face. “Yes, we were mostly lads, and Marco -himself a little over thirty. But how we did obey him, and how we did -fight!” - -Here he would lose himself in memory for a while. - -“I can see Marco now, seated cross-legged on the ground, a crude map of -his own make before him, we bending over him. ‘Here, boys,’ he would -say, pointing to the map, ‘here is where we fight the Turks to-morrow, -and by night time we shall carry our holy flag farther along. We do--or -we die!’ Then the handful of us would kneel and kiss the flag, and -swear by to-morrow to carry it farther along--or to die. And we always -carried it farther along.” - -He described Marco Bozaris so vividly to me, that when one day he -showed me a picture which he had smuggled into Turkey for my benefit, I -instantly cried: “Why that is the great Bozaris--your Marco!” - -I believe that I never pleased him more in my life than by this. He -actually kissed me. - -Next to Bozaris, the man he admired and talked of most was the intrepid -mariner, Constantin Kanaris. - -“The Turkish fleet was blazing with lights,” he told me, “for the -Kabitan Pasha was celebrating. One of the warships was filled with -Greek maidens, ranging from twelve to eighteen years. They had been -carried off that day without distinction of class or name. The -daughters of the great Greek chieftains and of the commonest sailors -had been herded together, and brought on this battleship to be made the -victims of the night. - -“Word of this had come to us. We sat gloomily around a rude wooden -table, saying not a word. Then Constantin Kanaris spoke, his voice -hoarse, his face terrible to look at: - -“‘Take them away we cannot--unless God sends us ships from heaven at -this minute. But if we cannot take them away, we can at least send them -to God, pure as he has given them to us.’ - -“We listened breathless, while he unfolded to us his daring plan. He -would go out in a small row-boat to the battle-ship alone. ‘Never fear! -I may not come back--but the battle-ship will be blown up.’ - -“He left us--so dumb with despair that for a long, long time none of us -spoke. Hours passed since he had gone; then a far distant boom made the -still air to tremble, and we, rushing to the shore, saw the sky bathed -in burning colours. - -“We lads were for shouting for joy, but at the sight of the older men, -whose heads hung low on their breasts, we remembered that none yet knew -whose were the daughters just sent to God. Each father there, maybe, -had a child to mourn.” - -My uncle’s friendship lasted as long as Kanaris lived, and at times he -went to see him in Greece. Once he reproached me bitterly for having -been born a few years too late to be taken to the home of Kanaris, to -behold the great chieftain and to be blessed by him. - -After the untimely death of Marco Bozaris at Karpenissi, my grand-uncle -fought under other great leaders, until in turn, in the last three -years of the revolution, he himself became a leader. - -Of his own exploits he never spoke. He entrusted this task to -posterity. It was of this and that other leader he loved to speak, and -as his narrative progressed all the names which have immortalized the -modern history of Greece passed before me--passed before me not as -names from a book, but as men of flesh and blood, in their everyday -aspects as well as in their heroic moments. - -And I, seated on my little stool, with the big book I had brought him -to read me still unopened on my lap, would listen enthralled, wishing -that I might have lived when my uncle had, and might with him have -kneeled in front of Marco Bozaris, to kiss the Greek flag, and to swear -that I would do or die. - -One day when he was more violent than usual against the Turks--when -he almost wept at the thought of living under the Turkish yoke--an -inspiration came to me. - -“Uncle!” I cried, “why do we live here? Why don’t we go to live where -the Greek flag flies?” - -Abruptly he stopped in his walk before me, his tall, thin figure erect, -his eyes aflame. - -“Go away from here?” he cried. “Go away from here, and be a traitor? -Yes, that is what so many thousands did in 1453. They abandoned their -hearths and the graves of their ancestors. They abandoned their lands -and their schools, and above all they abandoned St Sophia. To go away -from here is to forsake our country--for ever to relinquish it to the -conqueror. We must stay _here_!” he thundered, “and bear with our -_patrida_ the yoke of slavery, till the day shall come, when again -strong, we shall rise to break that yoke, and hear again a Christian -priest in St Sophia!” - -I was seven years old when he died; yet I felt almost as old as he. -Having never seen other children, and therefore having never shared in -childish frolics, my world consisted of the woes of Greece. - -His death was a terrible shock to me, and yet I cannot say that I quite -understood what death meant. For days and days I pondered as to where -he was, and whether he were comfortable or not. I saw his body, wrapped -in a huge Greek flag, the icon of his patron saint clasped in his cold -hands, lowered to rest beside the men of his family, who, like him, had -lived and died under the Turkish yoke. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -OTHER FACES, OTHER PHASES - - -My uncle was now gone--gone, let us hope, to where he was to find rest -from racial hatred, rest from national ambition. - -Gone though he was, his influence over my life was never to go -entirely--in spite of radical modifications. He had enriched my -childhood with things beyond my age, yet things which I would not give -up for the most normal and sweetest of childhoods. He had taught me the -Greek Revolution as no book could ever have done; and he had given me -an idea of the big things expected of men. He had given me a worship -for my race amounting to superstition, and bequeathed to me a hatred -for the Turks which would have warped my intelligence, had I not been -blessed almost from my infancy with a power of observing for myself, -and also had not good fortune given me little Turkish Kiamelé as a -constant companion. - -In the abstract, the Turks, from the deeds they had done, had taken -their place in my mind as the cruellest of races; yet in the concrete -that race was represented by dark-eyed, pretty little Kiamelé, the -sweetest and brightest memory of an otherwise bleak infancy. - -Alongside the deeds of the Greeks, and the bloodshed of the Greek -Revolution, I had from her “The Arabian Nights.” She told them to me -in her picturesque, dramatic way, becoming a horse when a horse had to -come into the tale, and any other animal when that animal appeared; and -she imitated them with so great an ingenuity that she suggested the -very presence of the animal, with little tax on my imagination. She -talked with a thick voice, when a fat man spoke, and a terribly funny -piping voice when a thin one spoke. She draped herself exquisitely with -her veil, when a princess came into the tale; and her face assumed -the queerest look when the _ev-sahibs_, or supernatural sprites, -appeared. Had it not been for her and her “Arabian Nights,” I should -never have laughed, or known there was a funny side to life; for I had -little enough occasion for laughter with my uncle. Even to this day, -when I am amused, I laugh in the oriental way of my little Kiamelé. - -After the death of my uncle, the course of my life was changed. I made -the acquaintance of my own family, who now came to live on the island, -in the same old house where he and I had lived. It took me a long time -to adjust myself to the new life, so different from the old, and -especially to meet children, and to try to talk with them. I had known -that other children existed, but I thought that each one was brought up -alone on an island with a grand-uncle, who taught it the history of its -race. - -My father and I quickly became friends, and I soon began to talk -with him in the grown-up way I had talked with my uncle, much to his -amusement, I could see. - -One day when I was sitting in his lap, with my arms encircling his -neck, I said to him: - -“Father, do you feel the Turkish yoke?” - -He gave a start. “What are you talking about, child?” - -It was then I told him what I knew of our past, and of our obligations -toward the future; how some day we must rise and throw off that yoke, -and hear the holy liturgy again chanted in St Sophia. - -He listened, interested, yet a flush of anger overspread his face. He -patted me, and murmured to himself: “And we thought she would grow -stronger living in the country.” - -He bent down and kissed me. “I would not bother much, just now, about -these things,” he said. “I’d play and grow strong.” - -“But, father,” I protested, “uncle told me never to forget those -things--not even for a day; to remember them constantly, and to bring -up my sons to carry forward the flag.” - -“You see,” my father replied, very seriously, “you are not eight yet, -and I do not believe in early marriages; so you have twelve years -before you are married and thirteen before you have a son. During those -years there are a lot of nice and funny things to think about--and, -above all, you must grow strong physically.” - -I must say I was quite disappointed at the way he took things. I was -quite miserable about it, and might have become morbid--for I liked -to cling to the big dreams of the future--had it not been for my -half-brother. He was fourteen years older than I, and he, too, like -my uncle lived in the past. His past, however, went beyond my uncle’s -past; and from him I was to learn, not of the woes of Greece, but of -the glory of Greece, of her golden age, and of the time when she, Queen -of the World, was first in civilization. - -My horizon was gilded also by the Greek mythology--that wonderful Greek -mythology, which to my brother was living, not dead. He spoke one day -in such a way of Olympus that I exclaimed: - -“You talk as if Olympus really existed, and were not only mythology.” - -“Of course, it exists,” he replied. “I used to live there myself, until -they punished me by sending me down here. I cannot tell you all the -particulars, because, when Zeus is about to exile one, one is given a -potion which puts him to sleep, and while asleep he is carried beyond -the limits of the Olympian realm, and is left outside to live the life -of a man. But though he forgets a great deal--as, for example, how to -find his way back--he is left with the memory of his former existence. -That is his punishment. After his death, however, he is forgiven and -returns to Olympus again.” - -I stared at my brother, but his calm assurance, and the faith I had in -him, made me implicitly believe him--and to-day I think he really more -than half believed it himself. - -After this I was not surprised to have him tell me that the gods of -Greece were not dead, but forced to retire on the mountains of Olympus, -because Christianity had to come first. “You see, little one, you will -presently learn the Old Testament, as you are now being taught the -New--and as I am teaching you Mythology. You will find out, as you grow -older, that you need all three to balance things up.” - -From him I heard not only the names of the great Greek writers, but -he read to me by the hour from them. At first they were very hard to -understand, since the Greek we speak is so much simpler than the Greek -of Aristophanes and Sophocles; but since, after all, it is the same -language, I learned to recite it pretty well before even I knew how to -read and write. - -It was from my brother, too, that I learned to know the Greek -Revolution as our great modern poets sang of it; and before the year -was over I could recite the “Chani of Gravia” and other celebrated -poems, as American children recite “Mother Goose.” - -One day there came into our garden, where my brother and I sat, a -handsome young man, saying: “They told me you were in the garden, so I -came to find you.” He sat down by us and plunged into a conversation -about a certain game they were getting up, and of which my brother was -the captain. We escorted him to the gate, when he left us, and after he -was out of ear-shot I asked my brother who he was, as he had forgotten -to introduce us. - -“It is Arif Bey,” he replied rather curtly. - -“You don’t mean a real Turk?” I cried. - -“Why, yes.” - -“But you seemed so friendly with him!” - -“Why not? I like him first rate.” - -“How can you be friends with a Turk?” - -“He’s an awfully good fellow.” - -“But ought we to like them, and treat them as if they were our equals?” - -“Well, what can we do, sister? They are the masters here, and we belong -to the Turkish officialdom. We have got to be friendly with them.” - -“But we ought to hate them just the same, since we must kill them. -Wouldn’t you kill him, if you could?” - -“I don’t think I hate Arif Bey--and as for killing him, I hope I shall -never have to.” - -“But if we are not to kill them, how are we going to be free again, and -how can the Greek flag fly over the Galata Tower?” - -“Look here, baby, what you need is to play more and not think so much. -Now come, and I’ll teach you to climb trees, and for every tree you -climb yourself I’ll tell you a tale about the time when I lived on -Mount Olympus.” - -I was agile by nature, in spite of being frail, and in no time I -learned to climb even the tallest trees on our place, an occupation -which delighted me as much as anything I had ever done. - -Arif Bey I saw again and again, for I became the constant companion of -either my father or my brother, and I could not find it in my heart -to hate him. A few years older than my brother, he was taller and his -shoulders were broader, and he carried himself with a dash worthy of -the old demi-gods of Greece. As for his eyes they were as kind and good -to look into as those of my brother. What is more I was never afraid in -his presence, and one day he spoke so tenderly of his sick mother that -I pretty much changed my mind about the delight of seeing him killed. -It was then that I talked very eulogistically about him to my brother; -but one never can tell what grown-ups will do--they are the most -inconsistent of human beings. - -“Look here, baby”--he interrupted my praises of Arif Bey--“Arif is -handsome and a nice chap, and I can trust him up to a certain point; -but don’t get to thinking he is as good as we are. A Turk never is. -They have enough Greek blood in them to look decent, but they have -enough Turkish left to be Asiatics, and don’t forget that. An Asiatic -is something inferior at best. Look at Arif Bey himself, for example. -He is about the best of them, and yet, barely twenty-seven, he has two -wives already. There is Asia for you!” - -I was quite perplexed in regard to the proper attitude of mind toward -the Turks. The only girl I knew was Kiamelé--and I adored her. The -only man was Arif Bey--and he got so mixed up in my mind with the -demi-gods that I did not even mind his two wives. My uncle had been -dead for almost a year, and I had no one to incite me against them. -The old Greek writers and the beautiful mythology was beginning to -make me tolerant toward everybody. I began to lose the feeling of the -yoke, since Greece had once been the greatest of great countries. -When one has a past achievement to be proud of, one bears a temporary -humiliation better--and there was so much in the Greek past that the -weight of the yoke lifted perceptibly from my neck. It is true I kept -the little flag nailed under the iconostasis, before which I said my -prayers every night, and when I felt that I was not quite as loyal to -it as I ought to be, I used to pray to the Christian gods to help me -to remember it. I say “gods,” because to my mind God and Christ, and -St Nicholas, and St George, and the rest of the saints were much the -same sort of a group as the old Greek gods, now in seclusion on Mount -Olympus. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -DJIMLAH - - -On the day of Beiram my father was about to set out for a call on a -Turkish pasha. - -“Take me with you, father,” I begged, thinking of the pleasure of being -with him more than of going into a Turkish home. He acceded to my -request, actuated by the same motive as mine. - -The old pasha was receiving his guests in his superb garden, and I, -after eating all the sweets my father would permit me to, and becoming -tired of their talk, which happened not to interest me, slipped away. I -wandered about in the garden, and presently came across a little girl, -older than myself, yet not so old as to form a barrier between us. It -is true that we came very near fighting, at first, over the bravery of -our respective races, but we ended, thanks to the courtesy of my little -hostess, by becoming friends. - -Taking my hand in hers we ran all the way to where the pasha and -my father were seated. She interrupted their conversation without -ceremony, and perching herself on her grandfather’s knees, she -demanded that he should borrow me for her from my father. - -I stood listening, confident that my father would never, never consent -to such a terrible thing. When my father consented--reluctantly it is -true; yet he did consent--cold shivers ran up and down my back, and -my eyelids fell heavily over my eyes. I felt abandoned--abandoned by -the one human being for whom I entertained the greatest confidence. -Sheer will-power kept me from throwing myself on my father’s knees -and imploring him to save me from the Turks. Had I not been bragging -to the little girl but a few minutes before that I was a Greek, and -consequently an extremely brave person, I am sure I should have broken -into sobs. As it was, I let myself be led away by the little girl -without even kissing my father good-bye; for that would have broken -down my self-control. That, I felt, was more than even Greek blood -could do. I resigned myself to my dreadful fate, but my legs felt like -ripe cucumbers. - -Little Djimlah enveloped me in a long caress. “You are my very own -baby,” she said. “I never had one before, and I shall love you vastly, -and give you all I have.” - -Holding my hand in hers she began to run as fast as she could, pulling -me along down the long avenue of trees, leading to the house. At the -door she did not knock. It opened as by magic of its own accord. - -My first glimpse of the interior corresponded exactly with the pictures -of my imagination; for in 1885 Turkish homes still preserved all their -oriental customs. The hall was large, dark, and gloomy; and the eunuch, -who had opened the door by pulling his rope, added to its terrors. And -since that was a great festival day, and many ladies were calling, the -hall was lined with these sinister black men, the whites of whose eyes -glistened in the darkness. - -Still hand in hand, Djimlah and I mounted a flight of dark, carpetless -stairs and came to a landing screened by very much the same kind of a -curtain as those that hang outside the doors of the Catholic churches -on the Continent. - -“Open!” Djimlah cried, and silently two eunuchs drew aside the -curtains, and we passed to another flight of bare stairs, now full of -light and sunshine. With the sun a peal of laughter greeted us, and -when we reached the upper hall I felt a trifle less afraid. - -Scrambling about on rugs were what seemed to me at first to be a -thousand young women, very much like my Kiamelé, dressed in as many -colours as there were heads, barefooted and barearmed. They were having -the greatest frolics, and laughing like a pack of children. - -“Hullo, there!” cried Djimlah. - -They stopped their romping, some of them rising up on their knees to -see us the better. - -“Why, Djimlah Hanoum, what have you there?” - -Djimlah surveyed me with eyes full of that humour which is so strong a -characteristic of the Turkish people, and replied seriously: “It looks -to me like a Christian child.” - -“And where did you find it?” they cried. - -“I borrowed it from the effendi, her father, who is out in the garden -talking to grandfather. She will be here a long, long time, as my own -baby.” - -“Really?” They became quite excited about this. - -“Yes. And she can understand us, and talk the way we do,” Djimlah -announced proudly, as if she had imparted to me a knowledge of her -language in the short time she had been holding my hand. - -“_Os-geldi! os-geldi!_” then they cried to me in welcome. - -“Now let’s go to grandmother,” said Djimlah. - -This bevy of women were the slaves of the house and the slaves of the -ladies who were with the great lady within. We passed through several -rooms, filled with the outdoor garments of the visiting ladies, and -then came into the _divan-khané_, or principal reception room, -where the hostess was entertaining her guests. - -Djimlah, placing both her little hands on the floor, salaamed, and -then walked up to her grandmother, who, magnificently attired in her -orientalism, sat cross-legged on a hard sofa, which ran around three -sides of the room. - -“Here, grandmother, here is a Christian child. The effendi, her father, -is out with grandfather, and he has lent her to me.” - -I stood still, quite uncertain what was the proper thing for me to do. -I had never before come so near to a Turkish lady; and this one, with -her deeply dyed finger-nails, and her indoor veils, and her hundreds -of diamonds, distracted all my previous education in decorum. I merely -stared. - -“Welcome, little _hanoum_,” she said, after she, too, had stared -at me. “We shall do our best to make your stay among us seem like a -happy minute.” - -I picked up my little skirts and made her a European curtsy. She was -childishly delighted with it, and I was made to repeat it before every -lady in the room, who sat in her magnificence, cross-legged on the -divan. - -There were many, and by the time I finished my curtsies, and told my -name and my age, and how I had learned Turkish, and where I lived, I -felt quite at home, and when the old lady made us sit by her, and gave -us such quantities of candy as I had never been permitted to eat in an -entire year, I did not think once of the little flag that my sons were -to carry. - -They talked before us as if we were not there, and told a lot of funny -stories at which we were permitted to join in the laugh. - -The audience over, the ladies rose and salaamed. Djimlah and I rose, -too, and as Djimlah now kissed the hems of the ladies’ dresses, so did -I; and I was pleased to do so, for the ladies were reeking with strong -perfumes, a thing I had been taught to consider ill-bred, but which I -secretly thought lovely. We escorted the guests out to the ante-rooms, -where their attendants wrapped them in their black wraps and heavy -white gauze head-gear, and there we bade them good-bye. - -Some of them took me in their arms and kissed me, and their perfume -stayed with me even in bed that night. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -WE AND THEY - - -It was a patriarchal home, this first harem into which I entered. It -consisted of the old _hanoum_, who was the first wife, and head -of the women’s part of the household, six other wives, whom she called -her sisters, several married daughters, the wives of some of the sons, -and two married grand-daughters. Among them they were the mothers of -numerous babies--indeed, there were babies all over the house; and -since each lady had several slaves there must have been at least a -hundred women and children. - -Djimlah happened to be the only child of her age. They were all sorry -for her, and said so constantly while doing their best to amuse her. - -There was little furniture in the house, just rugs and hard sofas, and -small tables upon which were always sorbets or sweets, and cushions of -all colours piled up on the rugs, where babies or grown-ups were always -lying slumbering. Various small musical instruments were also among the -cushions, and at any time some person would pick one of these up to -play and sing, so that most of the time, on the floor, there were both -people slumbering, and people playing and singing. And since the long, -curtainless windows were latticed, and the upper part entirely hidden -by creeping vines growing from pots, the whole place seemed to me like -a play-box, transformed into a fairy house, from which discipline, like -a wicked fairy, was banished. - -All the cooking was done in the men’s part of the house, and brought in -by eunuchs. At mealtimes we sat around small, low tables, on cushions, -and ate most of the things with our fingers, except rice and soup, -which we ate with pretty wooden spoons. - -The amount they permitted me to eat was incredible. Even to this day I -wonder what prevented me from becoming ill. - -Djimlah and I practically owned the house. We slid on the banisters; -we climbed on the backs of the slaves, who, at any time, were ready -to play horse with us; and we ate candy whenever and in whatever -quantities we pleased. - -No one said “No” to us, whatever we did, and the old _hanoum_ -let us ruffle her beautiful clothes and disturb her even when she was -asleep. We slept on a little bed, made up at the foot of hers, in her -own room, and it was she who said our prayer, which we repeated, and -then kissed us good-night. - -The day had passed so rapidly, and had been so crowded with events and -candy that I had had no time to think. Once in bed, after Djimlah put -her arms around me and kissed me and then sweetly fell asleep, I had -plenty of time to review the day. It seemed preposterous that I, my -uncle’s grand-niece, should be here in a Turkish household, and in the -same bed with a Turkish little girl--a little girl I liked and should -hate to kill. Yet my uncle’s teachings were strongly with me and his -dark, fiery eyes seemed to pierce my heart. I tried to focus my mind -on the bad side of this household. There was the fact of the several -wives, and if it was bad for Arif Bey to have two wives, it must be -terribly bad to have seven, as had Djimlah’s grandfather, who did not -even have the excuse, to my thinking, of being young, handsome and -Olympian. On the other hand, the old _hanoum_ liked those other -wives, and called them Sister, and Djimlah spoke of them lovingly. -Impelled by my uncle’s eyes I tried to dislike the Turks. I felt -disloyal to him, whom I could feel very close that night; but when I -fell asleep at last, my rest was not troubled, and on awakening again -Djimlah was leaning over me, cooing and laughing, and I began to laugh -too. - -The tears, which I had had the courage not to shed when my father said -that I might stay with Djimlah, flowed copiously when the time came to -leave her. I cried hard and loud, and so did Djimlah and because we -two cried some of the slaves joined in, and then the old _hanoum_ -said: - -“Now, young _hanoum_, that you have come once, you will like to -come again, and prove to us that we have made your stay happy.” - -“I’m ready to come this minute,” I sobbed. At this she laughed, and we -began to laugh, too; and thus I bade them good-bye. - -The first words I said on reaching my own home were that the Turks were -the nicest people in the world. My father was amused, but my mother was -horrified, and had she had her way I believe my first would have been -my only visit. As it was, eight days later I was again with Djimlah; -and thus it came about that from that early age I became a constant -visitor not only to Djimlah’s home, but also to that of other little -girls whom I met through her, and otherwise. - -As I grew older, the vast contrast between my race and theirs became -more and more clear to me; and I had the distinct feeling of partaking -of two worlds, mine and theirs. - -In my home there were duties for me from my babyhood, duties which had -rigidly to be performed; and things to be learned, remembered, and to -be guided by. The words duty and obligation played a great rôle in -my Greek home, and these two words, so stern, so irreconcilable with -pleasure, were absent from the Turkish homes. - -For me there was a tremendous Greek history to be learned and -understood; and the more one studied it, the more one had to suffer -because of the present; for in my home we lived with the past, we -talked of the past, and of the obligations which the past imposed upon -our present and future. - -In the Turkish homes there was no history to be learned. All they -seemed to know was that they were a great conquering race, that they -had come from Asia and had conquered all Europe, because they were -brave and the Europeans were cowards. There was no past or future in -their lives. Everything was ephemeral, resting on the pleasure of the -day, or better yet, on the pleasure of the moment; unconscious of the -morrow, and indifferent to the moment after the present. - -In entering a Turkish home, especially as I grew older, I felt as if I -were leaving my own life outside. They were different from us, these -women, these children of the Turks. They were so different, indeed, -that I rarely spoke to them of the things I felt or thought about at -home. I came to them ready to enjoy them, and to enjoy life with them; -and yet, as the years went by, deep down in my heart I felt glad to -be a Greek child, even though I belonged to the conquered race; and -I began to return to my home with greater satisfaction than I had -at first, and to put into my studies a fervour and a willingness -which might have been less, had I not been a visitor to these Turkish -households. - -Yet curiously, too, as I grew older, I liked the Turks more and more, -though in my liking there was a certain amount of protective feeling, -such as one might feel for wayward children, rather than for equals. - -I learned to see what was noble, charming, and poetical in their lives; -but I also became conscious that in spite of the faults of my race, in -spite of the limitations of our religion, our civilization was better -than theirs, because it contained such words as discipline, duty, and -obligation. And dimly I felt that we were a race that had come to the -world to stay and to help, while theirs was perhaps some day to vanish -utterly. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -AUNT KALLIROË - - -There is no use pretending that there has ever existed the least sense -of fraternity between the Greeks and the Turks. They had their quarters -and we had ours. They brought their customs and traditions from the -East, and we held fast to our own. The two races had nothing to give -each other. They ignored us totally, and we only remembered them to -hate them and to make ready some day to throw off their dominion. - -I have never heard a good word for the Turks from such of my people -as have not crossed their thresholds. It is almost unbelievable that -for upward of four hundred years we should have lived side by side, -ignorant of each other’s history, and positively refusing to learn of -each other’s good qualities. With entire sincerity the Greeks daily -relate to each other awful deeds of the Turks--deeds which are mere -rumour and hearsay, and contain only a grain of truth, or none at all. - -Each side did its best to keep the other as far away as possible. They -had their resorts and we had ours. They had their _tekhé_ and -we had our schools; they had their mosques and we had our churches; -they had their Punch and Judy shows and we had our theatres; they -had their music and we had our own; they had their language and we -clung jealously to ours. Our own differences we did not bring before -the Turkish law, but before our own Church. Neither in sorrow nor in -pleasure did we mingle. Turkey is the only country in the world where -one may travel for months without using the language of the country, -with such great tenacity do the conquered races cling to their own. -Indeed, in order to live comfortably in Constantinople, one must know -Greek, not Turkish. - -After I had played with Turkish girls for two years, had been in -and out of their homes as a friend, and liked them, one morning my -grand-aunt Kalliroë came to our house in a great state of excitement -and worry. - -“Go fetch your father, dear,” she cried to me, “and tell him that it is -of the utmost importance--of the utmost _national_ importance.” - -Aunt Kalliroë was an old lady, and the last of her type I remember. -She was of an old Phanariot family, and to her the traditions of -Phanar--the Greek portion of Constantinople--were as important as her -religious duties. She always dressed in the old fashion of Phanar, -wearing black lace, turban-like, on her head, a dress in one piece, -with ample skirts, and a shawl which she let hang gracefully over her -shoulders. She was tall and imposing, with the sharp features of the -Greeks of Phanar, which perhaps were sharpened during their first two -hundred years under Turkish rule. Even in her old age her eyes were -as piercing and clear as a hawk’s. She carried a cane, and wore silk -mittens made by hand; and whenever she met a Turk in the street she -muttered exorcizing words, as if he were an evil spirit. - -Upon her marriage she had at first gone to live in another community, -where the Greek traditions were not so rigidly adhered to. At once she -decided that her marriage was providential, and that God had meant her -to go to this place to revive the Greek spirit. She undertook her task -with a fervour at once patriotic and religious; and she succeeded in -her mission, for she made these wayward sheep return rigorously to the -fold. - -“Go, child!” she now admonished me impatiently. “Don’t stand there and -stare at me--go fetch your father.” - -I knew my father did not like to be disturbed in the morning, but -I knew also that there was not a human being who did not obey Aunt -Kalliroë, so I went and fetched my father. - -“Nephew!” she cried, without any greeting, as soon as she saw him, “I -will not countenance it--I will not tolerate it! He must be made to -understand the impossibility of his desire.” - -My father sat down by her, took her silk-mittened hand, and kissed the -fingers. - -“Now just tell me who is ‘he.’” - -Aunt Kalliroë looked at my father with disgusted surprise. - -“Nephew, are you living at the North Pole, and not in Turkey? Baky -Pasha, of course.” - -She flung the name as if it were a bomb, and waited for it to explode. -My father took the matter calmly. - -“What has he done?” he inquired. - -“Nephew, what is the matter with you? Don’t you know?” - -My father shook his head. “Tell me,” he begged. - -“He is proposing to buy the Spathary homestead! The--Spathary--homestead! -Why the man didn’t leave it to the Church I can’t understand; but I -suppose the stroke prevented him from putting his affairs in order. Well, -his only heirs live in Roumania, and they want to sell the house, not to -rent it, and what is more they are asking a ridiculous price. The house -has been vacant for two years; and now Baky Pasha, the Asiatic brute and -murderer, proposes to buy it, to buy a Christian home, which contains a -niche for our saints in every bed-chamber--a home which has been blessed -by our priests, and in which many a Christian child has been baptized!” - -She threw up her hands in despair. - -“Christian God, are you going to try your children much more? You have -sent these Asiatic hordes to come and conquer us; you have allowed your -great church to be polluted by their profane creed; and now are you -going to try your children further by permitting these beasts to buy -Christian homes to lead their improper lives in?” - -My father waited till her outburst came to an end, and then said -gently: “You know, Aunt Kalliroë, Baky is a very nice fellow, and what -is more he has never murdered anybody, or is likely to.” - -My grand-aunt stared at my father; then asked stiffly: “And what is his -nationality, please?” - -“He is a Turk, of course----” - -“A Turk--and not a murderer?” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. -“Christian God, what are we coming to? Is 1453 so far away that your -children have forgotten it? A Turk--and not a murderer! But I am not -here to discuss the Turks with you, nephew; for are you not a Turkish -official, do you not consort daily with these barbarians, and do they -not even say that you permit your innocent babe to sleep under the -roof where Turks keep their women? Christian God, give grace to your -children.” - -She joined her hands, and her lips moved in silent prayer. - -“Just tell me what I can do for you?” my father begged. - -“You can speak for me to that Turk, and tell him that the Spathary -homestead is Greek, and that it is in the midst of a Greek community, -where he is not wanted. If he offers so much money that it will be sold -to him, well, it shall be burned to the ground before he moves into it, -that is all.” - -My father opened his cigarette case, and offered her a cigarette, for -all the women of her generation smoked. - -She selected one, and examined it closely. “I am gratified at least to -see that you smoke what is made by your countrymen, and not Turkish -cigarettes.” - -My father laughed. “Why, auntie, there is not a Turkish cigarette-maker -in all Turkey. All the Turkish cigarettes are made by Greeks.” - -Aunt Kalliroë took a puff or two; then, for once, on the defensive, she -observed: “All decent things are made by Greeks--isn’t that so?” - -“I suppose so.” - -“You ought not to ‘suppose so,’” she cried, again on the offensive; -“you ought to be certain. Christian God, what are we coming to? Is this -the patriotism to be expected of the men who must try to free your -great church from the Mussulman profaning?” - -“Tell me, how do you propose to settle the Spathary matter?” my father -asked, reverting to the less dangerous topic. “If Baky shouldn’t buy -it, how would you keep off other Turks who might wish to buy? Your -community is an old-fashioned one. The younger generation of Greeks is -moving away from it; and only rich Turks will buy the big old Greek -homesteads.” - -“I propose to buy it myself,” she thundered, “and move into it, and -sell my own house to the Bishop of Heraclea, who wants it.” - -“How much does he offer for your house?” - -“Four thousand pounds.” - -“And what do the Spathary heirs ask?” - -“Those Roumanian Greeks have no more idea of value than they have of -patriotism--they are asking five thousand, and what is more I shall -have to pay it.” - -“Then you will sell the home of your husband’s forefathers, and pay a -thousand pounds more for an inferior one?” - -She banged her stick on the floor in exasperation. “I am not driving -a money bargain: I am keeping a Turk from coming among us. Great -Christian God, am I to permit an infidel to pass daily by my door, and -to walk the street where Christian virgins dwell?” - -“Why doesn’t the Bishop buy the Spathary homestead?” my father -suggested. - -“It isn’t big enough. It hasn’t enough ground. And it’s farther from -the landing. Now, are you going to carry my message to that brutal -Turk?” - -“Yes, certainly. And I know that he will not be willing to buy where he -is not wanted. But I am sorry that you are going to lose your own home, -and pay a thousand pounds over.” - -“Needn’t worry! I have enough to live on, and, as you know, all my -money goes to the Educational Fund, so that I might just as well use a -thousand pounds now to keep a Turk away from Christians.” - - * * * * * - -The next time we visited Aunt Kalliroë she was installed in the -Spathary homestead. Just within the front door stood a small table, -covered with a white linen table-cloth, such as orthodox Greek women -spun themselves for the purpose of putting on the tables where the -ikons were laid--table-cloths always washed by the mistress herself -in a basin kept apart from the other dishes. On the table lay a Greek -ikon, a brass candlestick holding three candles, all burning, and a -brass incense-burner, from which a column of blue smoke was rising, -filling the house with the odour of incense. - -“Why, it isn’t Easter and it isn’t Christmas,” I cried. “It isn’t even -a great saint’s day. Why are you burning the candles and the incense, -Aunt Kalliroë?” - -“They have been burning since I moved into this house, and they shall -burn for thrice forty days, to cleanse it from Turkish pollution.” - -“But since Baky Pasha never bought it, and never lived in it----” - -“No, but a Turk has coveted it, and that is enough to pollute a -Christian home.” - -This incident is one of many. It illustrates the feeling which existed -in the hearts of the orthodox Greeks for the people who conquered them -and brought, to the very capital of their former empire, their religion -and their customs. We disliked them and feared them; and our fear -partook both of the real and of the unreal, because we ascribed to them -not only the deeds which they had done, but also a great many that they -were incapable of doing, and had not even considered the possibility of -doing. - -I wonder now what would have been the outcome had the Greeks and the -Turks mingled more together; had they come to know each other and -to recognize each other’s good qualities, and had they been able to -profit by the good which is in each nation. Had the Turks, for example, -borrowed from the light of Greek civilization and culture; and had the -Greeks profited by the calm contemplative spirit, which is the keynote -of the Turkish character, when not in war. I wonder always what would -have been the outcome, and perhaps that is one more reason why I try to -show what is best in the Turks--to save the gold from the dross, and to -disentangle from the bad what was divine and immortal in them. - -We Greeks have never been able to learn from them and to give something -in exchange; but why let it be lost to the whole world? And since we -call ourselves Christians, why should we not be able to say--when the -sick shall be dead--even as Christ said of the dead dog: “Yes, he is a -dead dog--but his teeth are beautiful.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -IN THE HOLLOW OF ALLAH’S HAND - - -My visits to Djimlah continued, and her daring spirit was a continual -delight to me. I had never seen her afraid of anything, and she did -pretty much as she chose. One day when I was visiting her, a tremendous -thunder-storm broke out, and I said to her: - -“Oh, Djimlah, let us go out in your grounds and watch the storm. They -never let me do that at home, and I do so want to find its roots.” - -She did not accept the proposal with alacrity. “It will rain hard in -a minute,” she objected, “and we shall get wet. I hate to look like a -rat--and all the curl will come out of my hair.” - -“I believe you are afraid, like the other women,” I mocked her. “Maybe -if you had a European bed in your home you would go and hide under it.” - -She rose majestically: “Come, we will go and see whether I am afraid.” - -We went out, bent on finding the beginning of the storm. I always -thought that a storm must have a beginning; and from the windows of -my nursery, where I watched the storms, it looked as if it were just -around the corner. In vain, however, on that day did we wander around -many corners, on Djimlah’s grounds: we could find no beginning. - -The storm grew fiercer and fiercer. The whole sky was dark -lead-coloured, and black clouds rushed along as if a tremendous force -were pushing them from behind. The lightning, like a vicious snake, -was zigzagging over the sky. Then there came a bang! and a crash of -thunder. By that time we were far from the house, and on the cliffs. -Djimlah put her arm within mine. - -“I am possessed with fear,” she gasped; “for Allah is wrathful.” - -Her tone was full of awe, and it subdued me. “Let us go back,” I said. - -“No, it will overtake us, and crush us,” Djimlah answered. “I don’t -want to die--not just yet. We must hide somewhere.” - -At this time I was being taught my Bible, and felt that I knew a great -deal about religious subjects. - -“We can’t hide from God,” I explained. “He sees us everywhere--even in -the darkest corner of a dark closet.” - -“I don’t want to hide from God,” Djimlah corrected, “I want to hide -from the thunder. Come! I know where we can go--to the Hollow of -Allah’s Hand.” - -Hand in hand we ran as fast as we could against the hard, beating -rain, the fierce wind blowing against us, bending even big trees, -and mercilessly breaking off their branches. With the agility of -children we managed to reach a high cliff partly concealed by pines. -It resembled a gigantic hand, rising up, the fingers curving over and -forming a protected hollow. Into this we crept and sat down, high above -the Sea of Marmora, with miles and miles of horizon in front of us. - -In our little shelter the rain could not get at us, but we were already -wet, and our clothes clung to us uncomfortably. - -“Let us take our coats off,” suggested Djimlah, “for the under layer -must be less wet than the upper one. And also let us take off our shoes -and stockings. We shall be more comfortable without them.” - -We divested ourselves of some of our clothing, and as the hollow where -we sat had sand, we stretched our coats in front of us to dry, curled -our feet under us, and snuggled very close to each other. - -The storm was still raging, but we now looked upon it with the renewed -interest and pleasure derived from our safety. - -“We didn’t find its roots after all,” Djimlah observed. “I believe it -begins at the feet of Allah and ends there, and since we are sitting -in the hollow of his hand it can’t hurt us.” - -It struck me as curious that she should be talking of God so -familiarly. In my ignorance of their religious side, I considered the -Turks as infidels and without religion. - -“I didn’t know that God had any hands,” I remarked. “I thought He was -only an eye--at least that is the way He is painted on the ceiling of -our church.” - -Djimlah shook her head. “How can He be only an eye? Have you ever seen -a person being only an eye?” - -“He isn’t a person,” I retorted. “He is God, which is very different -from being a person,” and yet as I spoke the words, something I had -just learned popped into my head, that man was created in the image of -God. Magnanimously I mentioned this to Djimlah. - -“I always knew that,” she agreed, “and I know whom He looks like, too. -He looks like grandfather at his best.” - -“Your grandfather is old,” I protested. “God isn’t an old man.” - -Djimlah pondered this. “Well, He has lived ever since the beginning of -the world--and grandfather is only sixty.” She looked at me puzzled. -“That’s funny. I never thought much about His age.” - -“Yes,” I put in more perplexed still, “and His Son, if He had lived, -would have been almost nineteen hundred years old.” - -She turned abruptly, and her face in the little hollow was very near -mine. - -“What son?” she inquired with interest. - -“Jesus Christ, our Lord,” I answered. - -“Your prophet? Why, He wasn’t His Son. Allah never married,” and again -the words flashed into my mind that there was neither giving nor taking -in marriage in heaven. Yet I stood by my orthodoxy. - -“Christ _is_ the Son of God,” I maintained. - -Djimlah, too, stood by her belief. “Allah had no children of the flesh. -Christ was only a prophet--and He was second to Mohammed.” - -A brilliant idea came to me. “You know, Djimlah,” I explained, “I am -not talking of Allah, I am talking of God.” - -“They are all the same,” she asserted. “There is but one Heaven and one -Earth, and one Sun and one Moon. Therefore there is but one God, and -that is Allah, and we are His children.” - -I was staggered by her confident tone. Djimlah with her words had made -of me a Mohammedan and an infidel--something religiously unclean and -unspeakable. And, what is more, she was unconscious of the enormity of -her speech: she was excitedly watching the lightning, now making all -sorts of arabesques on the sky. - -“Watch, darling, watch!” she cried. “I know now what the storm is. It -is fireworks, Allah’s fireworks!” - -“Fireworks--foolishness!” I exclaimed peevishly; for I was sorely hurt -at the idea of her being on equal terms with me before God. “God is not -frivolous--He does not want any fireworks. He is vastly busy watching -the world, and guiding the destinies of the human race.” - -“Why should He watch and guide?” Djimlah said proudly. “He knows -everything from the beginning; for He writes it on the foreheads of -people. My destiny is written here,” she pointed to her forehead, “and -yours is written there.” She tapped my forehead. - -I hated her, and crossly pushed her finger from my forehead. - -“He doesn’t,” I cried, “for He leaves us free to choose whether we -shall be brave or cowardly, whether we shall do good or evil.” - -She laughed derisively. “A nice kind of a father you would make of -Him--taking no more care of us than that. But do stop arguing and watch -the storm. Isn’t it glorious?” - -Indeed the lightning over the Asiatic side of Turkey was wonderful. The -storm had worked its way over there, and the rain had followed, leaving -our side of the coast clear. Right above us a yellowish cloud tore open -and disclosed the sun. Djimlah greeted him with delight. She extended -her little arms up toward him, crying: - -“Come out, Sun Effendi, come out! You are so golden and warm, and I am -so cold.” - -She shook her little body and rose, jumping up and down to get warm. - -As if to oblige her the sun’s rays grew stronger and stronger, and -we began to feel better under their warmth. We could hear the storm -growling miles away now, and see only bits of lightning. - -“It’s working its way back to Allah,” said Djimlah, “so let’s go home, -and get dry clothes and something to eat. But I am glad we came out, -for now you know that it has no roots.” She put her arm around me. “I -used to be afraid of the noise,” she confessed sheepishly. “I used to -hide my head in some one’s lap. I never knew it was so beautiful. You -made me see that.” - -This deference pleased me, yet it did not take away the smart from -which I was suffering. Indeed, the calm assertion of Djimlah that we -were all in the same way children of God hurt me more than any abstract -proposition has since been able to. Had she intimated that the Turks -and the Greeks were alike, I could have proved to her by actual facts -that the Greeks were superior to the Turks, because they had attained -to the noblest civilization, the most beautiful architecture, and the -greatest literature in the world; but how was I to prove my position of -superiority before God? - -The afternoon passed in various games, in which I took only a -half-hearted interest. Then came supper and bedtime. I was spending the -night there, and by the time I was to go to bed my smart, instead of -being lessened, had grown tremendously. I undressed silently. - -The old _hanoum_ came in to hear us say our prayers. Up to this -time I had not minded praying with Djimlah to Allah. I was sure it did -not matter, because when I was tucked in bed, I crossed myself three -times, and implored the Virgin Mary to watch over me and over those I -loved. To-night it was different. If I were to show Djimlah that I did -not believe in her words, I must stop praying to her god; so I said: - -“I shall not pray to Allah to-night.” - -“Oh, but you _must_,” Djimlah declared. “You wouldn’t like to -disappoint him, would you?” - -“I don’t belong to him,” I asserted passionately. “I don’t belong to -him. I belong to God, so I don’t care whether I disappoint Allah or -not.” - -“Djimlah,” interposed her grandmother, “you must let the little -_hanoum_ do as she likes. You and I can pray alone.” - -Djimlah stood before her grandmother, her face tilted upward, her hands -outstretched, palms upward. - -“Allah, the only true god of heaven and earth, be praised! There is -no other God but God, the great, the wonderful, the just. Allah be -praised!” - -She kissed her grandmother and me, and the old lady kissed us both, and -put us to bed. No sooner was she out of the room than Djimlah said: - -“Baby mine, I believe the storm has upset you. You have been so quiet -all the afternoon--and now you don’t even pray.” - -“I am upset,” I replied. “But it isn’t the storm--it’s you.” - -She sat up in bed. “Now what have I done to offend you, when you are -under my roof?” - -“It wasn’t under your roof. It was when we were in the open, during the -storm.” - -“That part of the heavenly roof being over grandfather’s land is our -roof,” she corrected me. - -“Well, I don’t care what you call it, you have offended me.” - -“But, darling,” she cried, “how did I do it? I don’t remember it.” - -“I can’t quite explain it; but, although I have been very fond of you, -I don’t like you to say that you and I are the children of God in the -same way, and----” - -She interrupted me--and it was a pity, too; for at the moment I was -getting it quite clear how she was not my equal before God, and -afterwards I could not quite get it again. - -“But, _yavroum_, much loved by the stars and the rivers, are we -not Allah’s children, you and I?” - -“No!” I cried bitterly, “I have nothing to do with Allah. He is a -cruel, beastly god, who tells people to kill--and you _know_ you -have killed thousands of us--and little babies, too!” - -To my surprise I found myself hating the Turks with a hatred I never -thought I could feel since I had come to know them. And I was miserable -because I was in the same bed with Djimlah. - -Her eyes glistened in the semi-darkness. Our little bed faced the -windows, where there were no curtains, and the light undisturbed was -pouring in from the stars above, which we could see twinkling at us. - -“Funny! funny! funny!” she kept saying to herself. “I thought you liked -us--and oh! I do adore you so! I felt as if truly you were my own baby.” - -She had on a night-dress made of light brown cambric, with yellow and -red flowers on it. Her hair was tied at the top of her head with a -yellow ribbon, from which was dangling a charm against the evil eye. It -came over me how unlike a Greek child she was, and how very Turkish. - -“Djimlah!” I cried, “you are not, and you shall not be my equal before -God.” - -She crossed her hands on her breast and became lost in meditation. -After awhile she said: - -“There is no other God but God--and we are all His children. So they -told me and I believe it, don’t you?” - -I shook my head. “There is Allah, and there is God,” I replied. “And I -am a Greek, and you are a Turk--and the Turks are very cruel people.” - -“Have we been cruel to you, all this long time you have come to see us?” - -“No,” I had to admit, “but you are cruel just the same. If you will -read history you will know how cruel you are; for when you took -Constantinople, for days and nights you were killing our people and -burning our homes.” I was ready to weep over our past wrongs, and my -blood was boiling. “I don’t love you any more--and God doesn’t love you -either.” - -Djimlah’s eyes opened wide open. “I don’t understand. Let’s go to -grandmother: she will explain things to us.” - -“I don’t want them explained. I shall go home to-morrow, and never, -never, so long as I live, shall I again speak to you, or to any Turkish -child.” - -At this Djimlah began to cry: at first softly, then yelling at the top -of her lungs. This brought not only the old _hanoum_ but a bevy of -the younger ones. - -It took some time to pacify Djimlah, who managed to convey between her -sobs that I, her own baby, “her own flesh and blood,” as she put it, -was no longer coming to see her, because she was a Turkish child and -because Constantinople had been burned. - -The old _hanoum_ sent the younger women out of the room, put -Djimlah on the hard sofa by the window and wrapped her in a shawl. Then -she came to me, tucked me in a blanket, and carried me near to Djimlah. -After that she fetched two enormous Turkish delights with nuts in them, -and two glasses of water. - -“Both of you, eat and drink.” - -When this operation was over, she said quietly: “Now tell me all about -it.” - -As well as I could I told her of what Djimlah had said, and of my -feelings on the subject. - -“I don’t want to be equal with her before God,” I protested. “It isn’t -right; for she is a Turk, and I am a Greek.” - -“Well, my sweet _yavroum_, you are all mixed up about just where -you stand before God. At present you stand nowhere, because you are -only babies. As you grow older your place will be determined by your -usefulness in the world, your kindness and gentleness, by the way you -treat your husband’s mother and his other wives, and how healthy and -well brought up his children are. As to your being a Greek and Djimlah -a Turk, that is only geography,” she explained vaguely. “When we shall -die and go to God, we shall be that which we have made of ourselves.” - -“She says that we are wicked and brutal, and burned Constantinople, -and killed the people,” Djimlah moaned. - -“That was because Allah willed it. Nothing happens without the will of -Allah, and his word must be carried by the sword. We like you and love -you, and could no more harm you than we could harm Djimlah.” She leaned -over and took me on her lap. “Now, _yavroum_, remember that Allah -is father to you all, and he loves you equally well; and all you have -to do is to love each other and be good and go to sleep, and that will -please him.” - -She kissed me, and drew Djimlah to us, and made us kiss each other. - -A latent sense of justice made me recognize how good she was; and -although I did not relinquish my nationality as a bit of geography, I -recognized that there was something in what she said. So I kissed the -old _hanoum_, and kissed Djimlah, and obediently was led away to -bed. Then she sat by us and sang us a little lullaby. - -After she had left us Djimlah put her arms around me and whispered: “Do -you love me again? For I love you just the same, and when we grow up -let us marry the same effendi, and never be separated.” - -I did not go away the next day because Djimlah would not listen to it. -She was afraid lest I should keep to my first intention, and never -return. She wanted to talk over everything with me, which we did; and -with the help of the old _hanoum_, her light and her kindness, I -saw things a little better. - -Just as my idea of the ferocity of the Turks in their homes had long -ago vanished, so what they believed and taught God to be appealed to -me; and, although I retained my own idea of the relative importance -of the two races in this world, I could not help feeling that perhaps -the old hanoum was right, and that our position before God was less a -matter of creed and belief than of how we lived our lives. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -YILDERIM - - -As I look back on those years of close intimacy with Turkish children, -and our various discussions and squabbles, I cannot but feel thankful -for opportunities denied most children. And I can see now that a -great deal of the hatred which separates the different creeds and -nationalities is inculcated in our hearts before we are capable of -judging, by those who do their best to teach us brotherly love. - -During the first year of our friendship, Djimlah and I played -mostly alone. It is true that whenever other harems came to visit -Djimlah’s, and brought along girls of our age, we had to accept their -presence--either with alacrity or reluctance, depending on what we -had afoot. There were days when Djimlah and I were about to enact -some chapter of “The Arabian Nights,” and then we little cared to be -disturbed by outsiders; but oriental politeness forced Djimlah to play -the hostess. - -I rarely invited her to my house. First, because my mother positively -objected to Turks; and secondly because I had so little to offer her. -She would have to share my life, as I shared hers, and my life meant -lessons, duties, and discipline; so I preferred to go to her, and on -Saturday nights I usually slept there. - -We were quite happy by ourselves, because we made a very good team. -Though we both liked to be generals, we alternated the generalship. One -time Djimlah led, the next she obeyed orders. Our generalship consisted -in planning what sort of characters we were to be; and I am forced to -confess that on the days of Djimlah’s generalship things moved much -the best. Indeed I had to spend half my time as general in explaining -to her the Greek mythology, in order that she might understand the -characters we were to represent, while on her days I knew “The Arabian -Nights” as well as she. - -Before the year was over, we admitted to our circle a third, little -Chakendé, whose father was a subaltern of Djimlah’s grandfather. -Chakendé’s home was not far from ours, yet we met her first by -accident, and ever so far away from home. - -It was on a hot August evening, when I was spending the night with -Djimlah. The heat was so great that even at seven o’clock the rooms -were yet hot. The old _hanoum_ said it was not necessary for us -to go to bed until it became cool, and we were playing in the garden. -We were up in a tall tree; for I had taught Djimlah to climb--a thing -she took to much more naturally than learning Greek mythology. The tree -was very tall, and its branches hung over the high garden wall which -protected the _haremlik_ from the world’s eyes. - -Presently a little urchin came and stood in the street below. Like a -bird about to sing, he threw his head back, and in a clear, loud voice -half chanted: - -“_Bou axan kaïhri kavéshindé, ei karagiuzlar, kim istersin bouyour -sun_,” which meant, “This evening at the café of Kairi there is to -be a good show of Punch and Judy, and who wishes to come is welcome.” - -Having delivered his announcement, he walked a block farther on, and -chanted it again. By the time he was out of ear-shot we had the words -letter perfect, and began to chant it ourselves from the top of our -tree. We were so pleased with our accomplishment that we scrambled down -to earth and proceeded to deliver it before each of the groups of women -lying on rugs in the immense garden, waiting for the heat to lessen. - -Then, with the privilege of our age, we penetrated into the -_selamlik_, the men’s quarters, and proceeded to the dining-room, -where the old pasha, his sons, sons-in-law, and guests were dining. We -mounted on the sofa, and hand in hand burst forth, imitating the street -urchin as best we were able. - -The men laughed till the tears came into their eyes; then the old pasha -bade us come to him, and taking one of us on each knee, he asked: - -“So the young _hanoums_ wish to go, do they?” - -“Go where?” we inquired. - -“To the show of Punch and Judy.” - -“Can we?” we cried simultaneously. - -“I believe so,” the grandfather replied. - -“Go now--this minute?” - -The old man nodded. - -It was a case of speechless delight with us. The old pasha turned to -his company. “I am going to take the little _hanoums_ to the show, -and who wishes to come is welcome.” - -We dashed back to the _haremlik_ and made ready in the greatest -excitement. Our excitement was shared by all the women. They came in to -see us made ready, and told us to be sure to remember everything in the -show to repeat to them. - -The show was given in a common garden café, such as the small -bureaucracy and proletariat of Turkish masculinity frequents; but the -Turks are essentially democratic, and our party did not mind this in -the least. - -The limits of the café were indicated by canvas hung on ropes to screen -the show from the unpaying eye. Within were seats at twopence apiece, -and seats at a penny. Djimlah and I were installed in special chairs -at threepence, placed in front of the first row, which the men of our -party occupied--and then the show opened. - -It took place behind a piece of white cheese cloth, lighted by oil -lamps, and a few wooden puppets acted the play. A great deal of -swearing, beating, killing and dying took place in the most picturesque -Turkish. The audience laughed to hysterics. As for Djimlah and me, we -were simply delirious with joy. Nor did our pleasure end with that -evening. We learned a lot of the vernacular of the piece, and the next -day acted it for the delectation of the entire harem, who made us -repeat it several times, Djimlah being half the characters, and I the -other half. - -When I tried to repeat my histrionic success at home--being all the -characters--I saw my father give a glance at my mother, who, not -knowing a word of Turkish, sat unperturbed, while our two men guests -were doing their best to suppress their laughter. As I wanted my mother -to enjoy it too, I began to explain the whole thing to her, but, by one -of those cabalistic signs which existed between my father and myself, -I understood that I had better not explain; and after we were alone my -father said to me: - -“You know mamma does not like Turkish things, and you had better never -explain them to her. As a rule I would rather have you tell them to me -when we are all alone. And I shouldn’t like you to repeat this piece -again; for, although it may be right for the actors to say all the -things they did, it is better for little girls not to repeat them.” - -“But, father,” I protested, frightfully disappointed, “Djimlah and I -acted it all before her grandmother and the ladies of her household, -and they made us repeat it several times.” - -“That is because they are Turks. We are Greeks, and that makes a very -big difference.” - -It was at this Punch and Judy Show that we met the little girl who was -to become our constant companion. During an intermission her father -came up to salute the old pasha, and brought little Chakendé with him. -Immediately Djimlah’s grandfather ordered an extra chair for the little -girl, and told her to sit down beside us. She was very sweet looking, -about the age of Djimlah. We liked her so much that we asked her where -she lived, and on hearing that it was not far from us, we invited her -to come the next day to Djimlah’s house. - -This she did, and we liked her even better; for she submitted to us -very gracefully. She never wavered in this attitude, but it was far -from being a cowardly submission. - -She was then engaged to be married to a boy in Anatolia, whose -father had been a lifelong friend of her father’s. The engagement -had taken place when Chakendé was an hour old, and the lad seven -years old. By blood I considered Chakendé superior to Djimlah; for -Djimlah’s forefathers, for hundreds of years, had been officials, -while Chakendé’s had been warriors. They had been followers of the -great Tartar ruler Timur-Lang, with whose people the Turks had been -in constant warfare for centuries--now one side and then the other -being victorious. It was this Timur-Lang, who, early in the fifteenth -century, defeated the Turks, in the great battle of Angora, and took -Sultan Bayazet captive, and kept him prisoner in a cage till he died. - -Chakendé was very proud of this descent, and although she was now half -full of Turkish blood, yet she clung to her Tartar ancestry, and when -she told me about the battles her eyes lighted up and she was very -pretty. - -The lad to whom she was engaged, and whom she had not yet seen, was -also of the same clan, and she already entertained for him much -affection, and often spoke of him in such terms as, “my noble Bey,” “my -proud betrothed.” - -The more we saw of her the better we liked her, not only because she -submitted to us, but because she fitted so well into all the parts we -gave her to play, and we generally gave her such parts as we did not -ourselves like to do. Whenever there was any fighting to do she was -ordered to do it, because she could give such a terrific yell--the -yell of the Timur-Lang Clan, she said--and became so wild, and made the -fighting seem so real that we liked to watch her. And she was really -brave; for she never minded worms--which made Djimlah and me wriggle -like one. - -Chakendé did not speak with dislike of the Turks to me. She looked upon -them entirely as her people. “We have become one race,” she said. “They -are full of our blood, and we are full of theirs. Besides, we are of -the same faith.” - -I could see, in spite of Djimlah’s affection for me, and the old -_hanoum’s_ kindness and tolerance, and of the politeness of all -the Turks toward us, that they held a Christian to be inferior to -a Mohammedan. They did not say much about it, but I felt that they -considered themselves a superior race, by virtue of their origin -and religion. As I grew older, I no longer entered into national or -religious discussions. I did not even mind their feeling superior, -since I knew that this feeling was all they had, and that the real -superiority lay with us, and if they did not have this mistaken conceit -they would be very sorry for themselves. And, in spite of my kindly -feelings toward them, I was always aware that deep down in my heart -was planted the seed of hatred toward them--a seed which was never to -wither and die, even if it were not to grow very large. - -I wonder if there will ever come a time when little children will be -spared the planting of these seeds, when they will be brought up in -the teaching that there is but one God and one nationality--or that -the God and the nationality of other little children is as good as our -own: that we are all brothers and sisters, linked together by Nature to -carry out her work, and to give to each other the best that is in us? I -wonder whether we shall ever be trained so as not to care whether our -particular nation is big and powerful, but whether every human being is -receiving the chance to develop the best in him, in order that he may -give that best to the rest of the world? - -The bond which existed between Djimlah and Chakendé often gave me food -for thought. For centuries their people fought each other. Then they -amalgamated and made one, loved each other, and shared each other’s -destiny. My people had fought their people, and they had conquered -us--yet there was no amalgamation. My civilization stood on one side, -and theirs on the other, and in that dividing line stood Christ and -Mohammed, insurmountable barriers. I loved Djimlah, I loved Chakendé; -but, if any question arose, I was fore-most a Greek, and they were -Turks. They were Turks having the upper hand over us--a hand armed with -a scourge. And if they kept that hand behind their back, and I could -not see it, I knew that it held the whip, and that at times they used -it both heavily and unjustly. And I felt that my race must watch its -opportunity to get hold of that whip. - -The arrival of Chakendé, and later of Nashan and Semmaya, brought into -my friendship with Djimlah a feeling which did not exist before. It is -true that, on the first day we met, Djimlah and I almost fought over -the bravery of our respective nations, and her assumption of equality -before God had almost ended our friendship; yet never by word or sign -did she do anything to rouse our racial antagonism. But when the two of -us grew into a group, and of that group I remained the only Greek, they -sometimes forgot, and spoke unguardedly. - -One day, for example, when Djimlah’s grandfather had given each of us -some money to spend, we were waiting for the afternoon vendor to pass -in order to buy candy. We waited for a long time--unendurably long, we -thought--before the stillness of the afternoon vibrated with the words: - -“_Seker, sekerji!_” - -We rushed to the door, pennies in hand, and stamped impatiently for the -white-clad figure to come near. Then Chakendé exclaimed peevishly: - -“Oh, it isn’t Ali. It’s the Christian dog. Let’s not buy of him--let’s -wait for Ali.” - -In an instant I was transformed. I was wholly the child of my uncle, -wearing the Turkish yoke. I got hold of Chakendé’s two long braids, -and pulled and kicked--for when it came to real, not make-believe, -fighting I was more than her equal. - -Djimlah’s courtesy and tact alone saved the situation. She immediately -called to the Christian _sekerji_, and told us she was going to -treat us with all her pennies. Moreover, she addressed herself most -politely to the vendor, approved of his wares, and even praised his -complexion to him. - -Occurrences similar to this arose from time to time. If not often, -still they did arise, and they served as water and air and sunshine -to the little seed planted years before. I used to become so angry, -and to strike them so hard and so quickly that they nicknamed me -“_yilderim_,” which means thunder-storm. - -Djimlah had a little boy cousin, Mechmet, who lived a short distance -from her, and who sometimes came to play with her. He was nice -and generous, and gave us ungrudgingly of whatever he had. He was -particularly nice to me, and I liked him because he had large blue eyes -and light golden hair. - -One day when we were playing together he said to me: “I like you ever -so much, and when we grow up we can be married.” - -I shook my head: “That can’t be, because you are a Turk and I am -a Greek.” - -“That doesn’t matter. I shall make you my wife just the same,” he -answered confidently. - -From a remote past there arose memories in me, memories perhaps -acquired through reading, or lived in former existences; and pictures -came before me of Greek parents weeping because a little girl was born -to them--a little girl who, if she grew up to be pretty, would be -mercilessly snatched from them and taken to a Turkish _selamlik_. -And as picture succeeded picture, I became again entirely the child of -my uncle, with a hatred for the Turks as ungovernable as it seemed holy. - -Wild now, like a fierce little brute, I struck Mechmet, and struck and -struck again; and at the sight of the blood flowing from his nose an -exaltation possessed me. I was a girl, I could not carry arms--but with -my own hands I could kill a Turkish boy, and be able to say to my uncle -when we met again in the other world: “Uncle, girl though I am, I have -killed a Turk!” - -Djimlah, after vainly imploring us to stop fighting, ran to the cistern -and drew a bucket of cold water. In our battle we had fallen down, and -Djimlah drenched us with water, and the icy shower stopped our battle. - -In our room she was very severe with me. “Baby mine, I believe -sometimes you are mad! Why, you ought only to be glad if a boy says he -will marry you. What are girls for, but to be given to men and to bear -them children?” - -“Did I kill him?” I asked anxiously. - -She thought I was frightened, and came over and smoothed my hair. “Of -course you didn’t kill him; but he is much the worse for the beating -you gave him.” - -Then I wept bitterly in utter contempt for myself at having failed -in such a small task as killing just a little Turkish boy. Years -afterwards, when I accidentally found myself in the midst of the -Armenian massacres, I could appreciate probably better than most -spectators the feeling of racial antipathy which gloried in the -shedding of blood. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -I AM REMINDED OF MY SONS AGAIN - - -The little girl who made the fourth of our group was Nashan, whom I met -under peculiar circumstances. - -My father was in the habit of taking me with him whenever he went for -a long walk. Generally other men went with us, and their conversation -consisted of politics, a subject which delighted me especially, though -I could but half understand it. - -On one such day, we were walking on the St Nicholas Road, which was -long and wide, with the hills on one side, scattered cypress trees -and the sea on the other. The sun was setting, the heat of the day -was calming; and the Sea of Marmora, roused by the breeze, was -rhythmically lapping the shore, and adding freshness to the hour. - -My father as usual was discussing politics with another Greek, and I, -my hoop over my shoulder, was holding fast to one of his long fingers, -while my little feet heroically tried to keep step with the big feet -beside them. - -At a turn in the road we came upon a group of Turks, preceded by a -little girl, seated astride a richly caparisoned donkey whose head -was covered with blue beads. She herself fairly outshone the donkey -in gorgeousness. I knew her by sight, as children know each other, -and she always aroused the liveliest interest in me on account of her -costumes. I never wore any thing myself except simple white linen, with -an English sailor hat, my sole gold adornment the name of her majesty’s -dreadnought on its ribbon. - -The first time I encountered her, I had almost yelled at her, thinking -she was dressed up for fun, but the calm dignity with which she had -worn her ridiculous attire had convinced me that these were indeed her -usual clothes. - -To-day she had on a red velvet gown, trimmed with gold lace, and made -in the latest Parisian fashion for grown-up women. Her silk-mittened -hands, bejewelled with rings and bracelets, held a crop with a golden -head, from which floated yards and yards of pale blue ribbon. On her -head perched a pink silk hat, adorned with large white ostrich plumes. - -Quite in contrast to all this, a lock of hair hung down the middle -of her forehead, to which were tied pieces of garlic and various -other charms to ward off the evil eye. - -The men of her group saluted the men of mine. The little girl eyed me, -and I frankly stared at her. When the men’s _temenas_ were ended, -she piped up: - -“Father, this is the little girl I was telling you of--the one that -always dresses in sheeting.” - -To think of a person dressed as she was criticizing _my_ clothes. -I rose on the points of my little white shoes, and extended an accusing -finger at her: - -“And you are dressed like a _saltimbanque_!” I said. A -circus-rider was the only person with whom I felt I could properly -compare her. - -“Oh! it is not true,” the little girl wailed. “I am dressed like a -great lady.” - -The pasha, her father, smiled at my father. “_Zarar yok -Effedim!_ They will some day be women.” - -My father saluted, and apologized for me, and we went on our way. A -few minutes later, although I knew it had not been his intention, we -mounted the stone steps which led to a rustic, open-air café. - -He chose a table apart from the others, and gave an order to the -waiter. He said no word either to his companion or to me, but I knew -that he was worried. After the waiter had filled his order and gone, he -spoke: - -“My daughter, you have just insulted that child.” - -“But, father,” I protested, “she insulted me first.” - -“She did not. Are you not dressed in the material of which sheets are -made?” - -“And is she not dressed like a _saltimbanque_?” I argued. - -“That is an insult; for she thinks she is correctly dressed. Moreover, -my child, we are the conquered race, and they are the masters here. So -long as we _are_ the conquered race we must accept insults, but we -are not in a position to return them. When you become a woman, teach -this bitter truth to your sons, and may be some day we shall no longer -need to accept insults.” - -This was the first time my father had referred to my sons and what I -ought to teach them, since the day he had asked me not to think about -them but to get well and strong. He remained silent for some time after -this, and so did his companion. When we had finished our refreshments -my father rose. - -“We had better go home now. I fear that something may come of this.” - -“I fear so, too,” the other man said. - -The first thing my father asked, at home, was whether a message had -come from Saad Pasha. - -None had. - -He sent me to my room without my customary kiss, and a vague terror -brooded over me during the whole restless night. - -The next morning when I went to my father’s study and wished him -good morning, he only nodded to me, and kept on reading his paper. I -retreated to the window, where I occupied myself with breathing on the -panes and tracing figures on them with the point of my forefinger. It -was only a pretence of occupation, and I was alert for every movement -of my father’s, hoping he would relent and make friends again. - -Presently the door of our garden opened, and admitted a Turkish slave, -followed by another, carrying a much beribboned and beflowered basket -on his head. I greatly wished to impart this news to my father; but -glancing at him I decided that if I wished to remain in the room I had -better stay quiet. - -But what could be in the basket? I might have gone to inquire, except -that I feared if I left the study its doors might close behind me. -Besides, if the basket were for my father it would be presently brought -in; perhaps I should be permitted to open it, and-- From experience I -knew that such baskets often contained the sweetest of sweets. So I -waited quietly. - -The door opened. Instead of a basket, my mother entered, a perplexed -frown on her forehead, a letter in her hand. - -“What is it?” my father asked, rising. - -“Here is a letter which came with a basket from Saad Pasha. I cannot -read it. It is in Turkish.” - -My father took the letter and read it, and as he did so an expression -of relief came into his face. - -“His wife invites you to go to her at once.” - -“What!” my mother cried, “I go to her? _I!_ And pray why?” - -My father pointed to me. “This is the why,” and in a few words he -related the incident of the previous evening. - -“I will not go!” My mother stamped her foot. “I have never crossed a -Turk’s threshold, and I hope to die without doing so.” - -My father walked up and down the room twice. At length he said slowly: - -“There is the choice of crossing this Turkish threshold--because you -are bidden to--or all of us may have to cross the frontier, leaving -home and comfort behind us. Saad Pasha is a powerful man--at the -present moment the favourite in the palace--and our child has insulted -his.” - -Both my parents remained silent for a minute, and my childish heart -burned with hatred for these Turks, who were our masters. It seemed as -if I could never live a month without having to hate them anew. - -“I cannot speak their dreadful language,” my mother protested, half -yielding. - -“Take this child with you,” my father said, pointing again at me. It -was dreadful to be called “this child.” - -Half an hour later I was driving by my mother’s side to the -_koniak_ of the powerful pasha. - -My mother had said the truth. She had never crossed the threshold of a -_haremlik_; and to her all Turks, be they men, women or children, -were pestiferous beings. She hated them as loyally and as fervently as -she worshipped her Christian God, and adored her own flag. She was a -Greek of the old blood, who could believe nothing good of those who, -four hundred years before, had conquered her people, and beheaded her -patriarch. - -And now, because of her daughter’s misbehaviour, she was forced to obey -the summons of a Turkish woman. It was cruel and humiliating, and, -child though I was, I felt this. - -The large doors of the _koniak_ were thrown open, as soon as our -carriage stopped before them. The immense hall within was filled with -women, in many coloured garments and beflowered head-dresses. And, -as they salaamed to the floor, they looked like huge flowers bending -before the wind. A number of times they rose and fell, rhythmically. -Then a lovely lady, in the old Anatolian costume, advanced and greeted -us. - -There is no language in the world which lends itself so prettily -to yards and yards of welcoming words as Turkish. I translated the -phrases, full of perfume and flowers, which formed such a harmony with -the ladies and the home we were in, until even my mother was touched -by the pomp with which we were received; and the words full of exotic -charm and courtesy did much to assuage her bitterness. - -I could see that she was even beginning to take an interest in this -life so entirely new to her. When the Turkish lady went on to say -that she was a stranger in this land; that she had come from far-away -Anatolia because her Lord-Master and Giver of Life was now near the -Shadow of Allah on Earth, and that she wished guidance, my mother -relented considerably. She had expected to be treated _de haut en -bas_: instead she was received not only as an equal, but as one -possessing superior knowledge. - -With the same pomp and ceremony we were escorted upstairs, where we -were served with sweetmeats and coffee; and again sweetmeats and -sorbets. Then water was poured from brass pitchers into brass bowls; we -rinsed our hands and wiped them on embroidered napkins. - -The sweet-faced lady spoke again, and I translated. - -She wished to know whether her little Nashan was dressed like a great -lady, or like--whatever the word was. - -“My mother has never seen Nashan,” I volunteered. - -Thereupon Nashan was brought in, clad in a pale green satin gown, -low-necked and short-sleeved, in perfect fashion for a European lady -going to a ball. - -My mother surveyed her doubtfully. - -“Is she dressed like a great lady?” the _hanoum_ asked. - -My mother pronounced her dressed like a lady. - -The _hanoum_ scrutinized my mother’s countenance. - -“Ask your mother why she does not dress you the same way?” she said. - -The reply was that I was too little for such a gown. - -“How old are you?” the _hanoum_ inquired. - -“I am nine”--and I should have added some remarks of my own about -Nashan’s dress, had not the memory of the results of recent -observations of mine been still too fresh. - -“My little Nashan is eleven. Ask your mother whether she will dress you -like my Nashan the year after next.” - -“No,” was the reply. - -“Why not? Is it because you have not so much money as we have, and -because your father is not so powerful as my lord?” - -That was not the reason. - -Again the _hanoum_ scrutinized my mother, from her hat to her -boots, and back again. - -“Why is your mother dressed so sombrely? Is she a sad woman, or is her -master a stingy man?” - -In very polite words my mother conveyed to her that European women did -not wear gaudy clothes in the streets. And little by little, with the -help of a child’s interpretation, the woman from the remote district -of Anatolia comprehended that her child was not dressed as a well-bred -European child would be. - -Tears of mortification came into her eyes. - -“To think,” she wailed, “that I, who love my only baby so dearly and -who have made for her a gown for every day of the month, should only -have contrived to make her ridiculous!” - -“Oh, mother!” cried Nashan, “am I then dressed like a -_saltimbanque_, and not like a great lady?” - -The mother folded her little one in her arms, kissed away her tears, -and tried to comfort her. - -“My little Rose Petal, thy mother has made a mistake. She begs thee, -Seed of Glorious Roses, to forgive her. Say so, my little one; say that -thou forgivest thy ignorant mother.” - -“I love my mother!” the child sobbed. “I love my mother!” - -“Then dry thy tears, my little Petal; for the lady here will help us.” - -With a humility perhaps only to be found among Turkish women, a -humility which yet was self-respecting and proud, the wife of the -powerful pasha placed herself entirely under the guidance of the wife -of a Greek. - -This was the beginning of my friendship with Nashan. Thenceforth she -dressed in “sheeting,” and was educated in a scrupulously European -manner. Masters were engaged to teach her French and music. The -_hanoum_ accepted every bit of advice my mother gave her, save -one: she would not consent to a resident foreign governess. - -“No,” she said, in her humble yet determined way, “I will not give -up my child entirely to a foreign woman. Her character belongs to -_me_, and by me alone it shall be moulded.” - -Naturally I saw a great deal of Nashan, and we came to love each other -dearly. She had brought from Anatolia, along with her adorable little -face, something of the character of her untamed mountains. As we grew -from year to year, we used, child-like, to talk of many things we -little understood; and once she said to me: “I am sure of the existence -of Allah; for at times he manifests himself to me so quickly that I -believe he lives within me.” - -At such moments as these I believe the real Nashan was uppermost. -Usually, I am sorry to say, she more and more lost her native -simplicity, with her acquirement of European culture, and more openly -despised the customs of her own country. - -Her early velvet and satin gowns were given us to play with; and many a -rainy day we spent in adorning ourselves with her former gorgeousness. -Then Nashan would stand before me and humorously demand: - -“Am I a great lady, or am I a _saltimbanque_?” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE GARDEN GODDESS - - -It was natural that I should bring Nashan to Djimlah, and that she -should become the fourth of our group. Mechmet and his brother Shaadi -also often came to spend the day at Djimlah’s, and joined in our games. - -Djimlah’s grandmother was desirous that we four girls should have -some of our lessons together, and my mother, from the distance, could -only acquiesce in this. Thus I saw them daily; and the more frequent -contact brought forth more frequent causes for warfare between us. -When they were all together, the fact of their being Turks became more -emphasized, and within me there burned the desire to dazzle them with -what the Greeks really had been in the world. - -The way to do this came to me one night when sleep deserted me, and -in its stead Inspiration sat by my pillow. Since they knew absolutely -nothing of Greek History, I would tell it to them as a story. -Feverishly I sketched it all out in my head. I would begin at the -very beginning, showing them how Prometheus stole the divine fire to -create the Greeks. The Turks should come into the tale under the name -of Pelasgians--yes, I would call them Pelasgians, while the Greeks -should be called Prometheans. I could tell a story very well, at the -time, and I hugged my pillow fervently at the thought of my three -companions breathlessly listening to the recital of the great deeds of -the Greeks--and loathing the Turks for all their misdoings. And when -I had them properly moved, I should explain to them that this was not -a story, but real history: that the Prometheans were the Greeks, and -the Pelasgians were the Turks. And I should conclude: “You may call -yourselves the proud Osmanlis, and you may think that you are the -chosen people of Allah, but this is what history thinks of you--that’s -what you are to the world.” - -I was so excited to begin my work that I slept no more that night. Yet -on the very next day I learned that my most inconsiderate parents had -decided to go for a few months to the Bosphorus. It always struck me -as the worst side of grown-ups that they never considered the plans of -the little ones. They will teach you, “It is not polite to interrupt -papa or mamma with your affairs when they are busy”--while papa or -mamma are only talking silly, uninteresting stuff which might very -well be interrupted. Yet how often, when I was intently watching a -cloud teaching me his art of transforming himself from a chariot to -an immense forest or from a tiger to a bevy of birds, mamma would -interrupt without even apologizing; and were I to say to her, “Just -wait a minute,” as mamma thousands of times said to me, I should be -called a rude little girl. - -Thus it happened that, when my life’s work was unfolded before my eyes -by an inspiration, I was snatched away to that outlandish place, the -Bosphorus. - -And there, about a quarter of a mile from the house we took, with -nothing between us but fields and gardens, lived a Turkish general and -his family. I do not recall his name, for every one spoke of him as the -Damlaly Pasha, which means “the pasha who has had a stroke.” - -His was a modest house, surrounded by a garden, the wall of which had -tumbled down in one place, offering a possible means of ingress to a -small child of my activity. Some day I meant to avoid the vigilance of -the elders and to penetrate into the heart of that unknown garden; for -the opening was for ever beckoning to me. But, though I had not yet -been able to do so, I had already managed to peep into it; and had seen -a young woman who seemed to me the embodiment of a fairy queen picking -flowers there. - -Every Friday morning the general went over to Constantinople, to ride -in the Sultan’s procession, as I afterwards learned. He wore his best -uniform, and his breast was covered with medals. A eunuch and a little -girl always accompanied him to the landing, and their way led past our -house. - -Being lonely at the time, I took a great interest in the happenings -on our road, and I learned to wait every Friday morning for the queer -trio: the gorgeously uniformed and bemedalled old general, painfully -trailing his left foot; the old, bent eunuch, in a frock coat as old -and worn-out as himself, and the fresh little girl, with all her skirts -stuffed into a tight-fitting pair of trousers. - -I thought her quite pretty, in spite of the ridiculous trousers. Her -hair was light, as is the colour of ripe wheat, and her eyes were as -blue as if God had made them from a bit of his blue sky. I nicknamed -her Sitanthy, and used to make up stories about her, and was always -wondering what her relationship was to the old general. Once I heard -her call him father, but I felt sure he could not be that. To my way -of thinking a father was a tall, slim, good-looking person. The other -species of men were either uncles, or grandfathers, or, worse yet, bore -no relationship to little girls, but were just so many stray men. - -I never contemplated talking to the little girl--she was to me almost a -fictitious character, like one of the people I knew and consorted with -in our Greek Mythology--until fate brought us together. - -One wonderful, mysterious, summer evening thousands of fireflies were -peopling the atmosphere. I had never seen so many before, and wanted to -stay up and play with them. But the tyranny of the elders decreed that -I should be put to bed at the customary hour, as if it had been any -ordinary night. - -I believe few of the elders retain the powers of childhood--which see -far beyond the confines of the seen world--else why should they have -insisted on my leaving this romantic world outside, which was beckoning -me to join its revels? - -However, they did put me to bed, and as usual told me to shut my eyes -tight and go to sleep. But shutting one’s eyes does not make one go -to sleep. On the contrary one sees many more things than before. The -beauty of the night had intoxicated me. I was a part of nature, and she -was claiming me for her own. There was a pond in our garden where frogs -lived. They, too, must have felt the power of to-night’s beauty; for -they were far more loquacious than usual. I listened to them for a long -time--and presently I understood that they were talking to me. - -“Get up, little girl!” they were saying. “Get up, little girl!” - -For hours and hours they kept this up, now softly and insinuatingly, -then swelling into loud command. - -They ended by persuading me. I crept from my bed, put on my slippers, -threw over my nighty the pink little wrap with its silk-lined hood, and -went out on the balcony outside of my window. From there I slid down -one of the columns, and, before I knew it, was on the ground. - -Supreme moment of happiness! I was free--free to revel in the wonders -of the night, free from vigilance and from orders. Clasping my wrap -closely around me, I first went to the pond, and told the frogs that I -was up. - -“That’s right, little girl!” they answered me. “That’s right, little -girl!” But that was all they had to say to me, so I left them and gave -myself up to the deliciousness of being out of bed at an hour when all -well-regulated children should be in bed--according to the laws of the -elders. - -The fireflies laughed and danced with me, twinkling in and out of -the darkness. They seemed like thousands of little stars, who, tired -of contemplating the world from heights above, like me had escaped -vigilance, and, deserting the firmament, had slid down to the earth to -play. - -What a lot they had to say to me, these cheerful little sparks. On and -on we wandered together. They always surrounded me--almost lifting -me from the ground; and occasionally I succeeded in catching one and -sticking it on my forehead, till I had quite a cluster, so close -together that I must have looked like a cyclops, with one fiery eye in -the middle of my forehead. - -We came into the fields where the daisies and poppies were sleeping -together, and passing through still another field, we arrived at the -place where the Damlaly Pasha lived. Then I knew that the opening in -the wall and the goddess had invited me to call on them that night. - -Climbing over the opening was not an easy task, for my bedroom slippers -were soft, and the stones of the tumble-down wall were hard and sharp; -but I accomplished it. As for the fireflies, they had no difficulty: -they flew over the wall as if it were not there at all. - -Inside, the sense of real exploration came over me. The garden was -old-fashioned, where the flowers grew in disorder, as they generally -do in Turkish gardens. How delicious was the perfume of the flowers. -I felt sure that, like me and the fireflies and the frogs and the -nightingales, the flowers here were awake--and not like the daisies and -poppies, who are sleepy-heads. But in vain did I look for my goddess. -She was not there. - -Presently another little form came moving along through the bushes. We -met in the shrubbery. I pushed aside the branches, put my face through, -and in Turkish I said: - -“Hullo, Sitanthy!” - -“Hullo!” she answered, “What did you call me?” - -“Sitanthy,” I replied. “That’s your name. I gave it to you. It is the -blue flower in the wheat--because you look like one of them.” - -“That’s pretty,” Sitanthy commented. “And what is _your_ name?” - -I told her. - -“I know who you are,” she went on. “You are the solitary child, who -lives on the road to the landing, and who never plays.” - -“I do play!” I cried. - -“How can you? You are always sitting still.” - -“I play most when I am most still.” - -“Yours must be a funny game,” she observed “for when _I_ sit still -I go to sleep.” - -Across the bushes we leaned and kissed each other. With her fingers -Sitanthy took hold of my cheeks and told me that she loved me. - -“I have loved _you_ ever since we came to live here,” I said, -“because you are so pretty.” - -“Are you pretty?” she inquired politely. “You have the largest eyes of -anyone in the world.” - -“They are not really so large,” I corrected her. “They only look so, -because my face is little. I know it for a fact, because one day I -measured with a thread those of my father, and they were every bit as -large as mine.” - -We linked arms and walked about the garden. She still wore her -ridiculous trousers. - -“Didn’t they put you to bed?” I asked. - -“No. I didn’t want to go--and I don’t go unless I want to.” - -I stared at her in amazement. “And do the elders let you?” - -She nodded. - -“They put _me_ to bed every night--at the same hour,” I confided, -with great pity for myself. - -She put her arm around me and kissed me, and though she said nothing I -knew that she felt the tragedy of this. - -We plucked dew-soaked flowers together, talking all the time of those -things which belong to childhood alone; for children are nearer to the -world from which they have come, and when they meet, they naturally -talk of the things they remember, which the elders have forgotten--and -because they have forgotten, call unreal. - -We caught some fireflies for her forehead, too, and thus we were two -cyclopses instead of one. I had to tell Sitanthy about them, for she -being a Turkish child knew nothing of them. Then I inquired about the -goddess of the garden; but Sitanthy only said that there was no young -woman in their house except their _halaïc_. - -When I was ready to go, she let me out of the gate, and I started back -to my home. I was a little cold. A heavy dew was falling, and my -nighty was wet, and so was the flimsy pink wrapper. As for my slippers, -they became so soaked through that I discarded them in one of the -fields. - -I meant to return to my bed as quietly as I had come out, but on -reaching our garden I knew that my escape had been discovered. A light -was burning in my bedroom, and other lights were moving to and fro in -the house, and there were lanterns in the garden. - -I walked up to the nearest lantern. Happily it was in the hands of my -father. - -To scare him I imitated the croak of a frog. - -“Oh, baby!” he cried. “Oh, baby, where have you been?” - -I confided my whole adventure to him, because of all the elders I have -known--except my brother, who was one of the immortals of Olympus--my -father seemed, if not to remember, at least to understand. - -That night I was not scolded. The wet clothes were replaced by warm -ones, and I was only made to drink a disagreeable _tisane_. And -since, in spite of the _tisane_, I did catch cold and for two days -was feverish, I escaped even a remonstrance. - -Yet my escapade had one lasting good result. It led to my friendship -with Sitanthy--and finally to the goddess of the garden. - -On the following Friday, although I was still not quite well, I begged -to be permitted to sit by the window. - -The trio for whom I was waiting came, but sooner than their customary -hour. From afar Sitanthy waved her little hand to me. Then instead -of passing by, as usual, all three came up to our house, and the old -general ceremoniously delivered a letter addressed to my father, who at -once came out, and accompanied them to the gate. - -When my father returned, he said that on her way back the little girl -was to stay and play with me. - -On this first visit, Sitanthy told me her history. She was the only -child of the only son of the old general and his _hanoum_. Her -father was killed in one of those wars, unrecorded by history, which -the sultan wages against his unruly subjects in remote, unmapped -corners of Asia. But, if these wars are not recorded by history, their -record is written with indelible ink in the hearts of the Turkish -women; for every one means the loss of brothers, fathers, husbands, and -sons, whose deaths are reported, if at all, long after they have been -laid away in unknown graves. - -Sitanthy’s mother died from a broken heart, and thus my little friend -was all that remained to the old couple. - -“I wear those trousers,” she explained, “to afford pleasure to my -grandparents. You see I’m only a girl, and it must break their hearts -to have a boyless home, so I saved all my pennies and bought these -trousers to give the household an air of possessing a boy.” - -I hugged her, and never again thought of her trousers as ridiculous. - -In the simple way Turkish children have, she also told me the -affairs of her home. The household consisted of her grandfather, her -grandmother, the old eunuch, a cook older than the eunuch, and a young -slave--the _halaïc_. - -A _halaïc_ is a slave who is plain, and consequently cannot be -given in marriage to a rich husband; nor is she clever enough to become -a teacher; nor does she possess that grace and suppleness which might -make of her a dancing girl. Having thus neither mental nor physical -attributes, she becomes a menial. - -She does all the coarsest work; and after seven years of servitude, if -she belongs to a generous master, she is either freed, with a minimum -dowry of two hundred and fifty dollars, or is given in marriage, with -a larger dowry, to one of the men servants in the retinue of the -household. - -It is said that sometimes, if her master be either poor or cruel, he -sells her before her time expires, and thus she passes from house -to house--a beast of burden, because Allah has given her neither -cleverness, nor bodily beauty nor grace; and men cheat her of her -freedom and youth. - -Thus, knowing exactly what a _halaïc_ was, I laughed at Sitanthy -when, in answer to my question about the goddess of her garden, she -replied: “It must be our _halaïc_--she is the only young woman in -our household.” - -After I was entirely well again, I was permitted to go with Sitanthy -to play in her garden. I went with great expectations; for I hoped -that by daylight and with all the afternoon before me I could find out -something about my goddess. - -On entering the garden, the first person I encountered was she--and -what I saw stabbed my heart. My goddess was harnessed to the -old-fashioned wooden water-wheel at the well, and with eyes shut was -walking round and round it, drawing up water. - -We had a similar arrangement in our own garden, but it was a -blindfolded donkey who did the work--not a goddess. - -She was dressed in a loose, many-coloured bright garment, held in at -the waist by a wide brass belt. A yellow veil was thrown over her head; -her bare arms were crossed on her breast, and bathed in the light of -that summer day, with eyes closed, she was doing this dreadful work, -without apparent shame, without mortification. - -On the contrary, she seemed unaware of the degradation of her work. She -could not have looked more majestic or more beautiful had she been a -queen in the act of receiving a foreign ambassador. But I, who loved -her and called her my goddess, felt the shame and tears of rage sprang -to my eyes. - -Saturated as I was with Greek mythology, there came to my mind the -thought of Danaë, daughter of Acrisius, King of Argos, and mother of -Perseus. Because she refused to listen to the love-words of the king -who received her, after her father exiled her, she was condemned to -similar work. - -A great excitement seized me. I thought that the story I had read did -not belong to the past--that it was being enacted in that very place, -at that very hour, and before my own eyes. Nay, more! _I_ was a -Greek runner, ordered by the gods of Olympus to announce to her the -return of her son. - -Possessed by the conviction, I rushed up to her, and stopped her in her -work. - -“Hail to thee, Danaë!” I cried. “Perseus, your son, is coming, bringing -the head of Medusa, and with it he will turn into stone those who are -ill-treating you.” - -She opened her eyes and gazed at me with a puzzled expression. - -I repeated my words, my enthusiasm a trifle damped by her reception of -them. - -When I had explained everything to her, and had given her every detail -of Danaë’s life and her son’s achievements a smile broke over her -face. Of all our visible signs, the soul comes nearest to speaking in -the smile. When the _halaïc_ smiled it was as if God were peeping -through the clouds. - -“You adorable baby! You adorable Greek baby!” she laughed. - -She unharnessed herself, and took me in her arms, holding me there as -a nest must hold a little bird. How comfy, how motherly her arms were. -She sat down on a stump and cuddled me in her lap; and I, pushing aside -her dress at the throat, kissed her where she was the prettiest. - -“Why are you a _halaïc_?” I moaned. “Why do you have to be a -donkey--you who are beautiful as a Greek nymph?” - -Her face softened, her eyes became misty, and her lips quivered, yet -remained wreathed in smiles. Silently she patted me, and I spoke again -of the cruelty of her position. - -“Well, well, _yavroum_, you see the old people are very poor. They -have no money this month to engage a donkey, and the men on this place -are too old for such hard work. I am young and strong, so I do it.” - -“But why are you a _halaïc_?” I repeated. - -She laughed. “I am not exactly a _halaïc_, for I am a free woman. -I may go if I please--only I please to stay. The old _hanoum_ -brought me up. I love her. She is old and poor. She needs me, and I -stay.” - -Just then Sitanthy came out of the house, and claimed a part of the -lap that I was occupying, and there we both sat for awhile. But the -_halaïc_ had much to do, and presently we were sent off to play. - -I questioned Sitanthy about her. - -“She will pine away some day and die,” Sitanthy said. - -My eyes grew larger. “Never!” I cried. “She is immortal.” - -Sitanthy shook her head. “Oh, yes, she will; for her ailment is -incurable. Her heart is buried in a grave.” - -In vain I begged for more explanations. With maddening precision -Sitanthy reiterated the same words. She had heard her grandmother say -this, and being a child of her race she accepted it as final. Her mind -received without stimulating her imagination. But I was a Greek child, -with a mind as alert, an imagination as fertile as hers were placid and -apathetic. - -The _halaïc_ became the heroine of my daydreams. There was not -a tale which my brain remembered or concocted in which she did not -figure. My soul thirsted for knowledge of her affairs. They beckoned -to me as forcibly as had the tumble-down wall, and I meant some day to -penetrate her secrets. - -She had said that the old _hanoum_ had brought her up, and that -the old _hanoum_ was very poor. That was one more reason why -she should have been given a great marriage. Any rich Turk would have -been willing to pay a fortune for such as she. In the East, we talk of -these things openly, as common occurrences; and since my intimacy with -Djimlah I had unconsciously learned a great deal about Turkish customs. - -The affairs of the _halaïc_ quite absorbed me. I watched her -carefully. She never looked sad, or even tired. She performed her -menial duties as if they were pleasant tasks, like arranging flowers in -vases. She did everything, from being the donkey of the well to beating -the rugs, washing the linen, and scrubbing the floors. - -In the early fall, toward sunset one day, I met her for the first time -outside the garden wall. I was being taken home to supper, and she -was mounting a hill leading to the forest of Belgrade. She passed me -without seeing me, her eyes on the horizon, a mysterious smile on her -lips. - -My heart leaped at the radiance of her appearance. She was like the -embodiment of all the Greek heroines of myth and history. The wondrous -expression on her face so moved me that I had to sit down to keep my -heart from leaping from my breast. - -“Come now, mademoiselle,” said the elder who was with me, “you know you -are already late for your supper.” - -On any other occasion I should have kicked my governess, but the face -of the _halaïc_ had sobered me. Obediently I walked home, but I -did not eat much supper. - -The next time I saw Sitanthy, I told her of my meeting with the -_halaïc_. - -Sitanthy nodded. “She was going to her hour of happiness. She lives for -that hour. She has it from time to time.” - -In vain I begged for more particulars. Sitanthy was the most Asiatic of -all the Turkish children I have known. She could tell me stories of her -world; but her world appeared to her as matter-of-fact and unromantic -as the world of the elders. - -Whenever I saw the _halaïc_ she was lovely to me. She smothered me -with kisses, and she scolded me kindly whenever I needed it, which was -pretty often. But there was a patrician reserve about her which kept me -from questioning her. - -She was tender, but at times cruel. She would laugh at things which -choked my throat with a big lump. Damlaly Pasha’s household was poor. -They lived on his pension, which was generally in arrears; for the -Oriental knows no fixed time, and the Turkish government is the most -oriental factor in their oriental lives. - -There came days when the exchequer of the household was reduced to -small coins, which the hanoum kept tied in a knot in one of the corners -of her indoor veil. She always gave us a penny, when I visited -there; and Sitanthy and I would call the _simitzi_, passing by -with his wares on his head, and we would buy four of his delectable -_simit_, big enough to wear as bracelets--until we had eaten them. - -Then came afternoons when we were given only a halfpenny, and each -of us had only one _simit_; and then there was a time when the -_hanoum_ had not even a halfpenny, and she wept because she could -not buy us _simit_. That was the day that the _halaïc_ was -cruel. She laughed at the sorrow of her mistress, and derided her; and -the old _hanoum_ was so mortified that she stopped crying at once. - -It happened that one day I was taken suddenly ill while playing with -Sitanthy; and the old _hanoum_ sent word to my home, begging leave -to keep me in her house, in order that I should not be moved, and -imploring to be trusted. - -It was the _halaïc_ who took care of me. She made up two little -beds, and slept herself between them. The old _hanoum_ brought -a brazier into the room, filled with lighted charcoal, and on it she -heated olive oil in a tin saucer. When it was very hot they took -off my nightgown, sprinkled dried camomiles all over me; and the -_halaïc_, dipping her hands into the scorching oil, began to rub -me. She rubbed and rubbed, till I screamed, and was limp as a rag. But -I fell into refreshing slumber immediately afterwards. - -When I awoke, dripping with perspiration, the _halaïc_ was -changing my nightgown. Then she put me into the other little bed, which -was warm and dry. - -Some hours later, I again awoke, and saw the _halaïc_ moving about -the room on tiptoe. She threw a cloak over her shoulders, and, with the -caution of a cat about to lap forbidden milk, stole out of the room. - -I sat up in my bed and wondered what she was doing. Then I arose and -went to the window. The last quarter of the moon lighted the garden, -and distinctly I saw the _halaïc_ disappearing into a group of -cypresses. - -In an instant I wrapped a shawl around me, and went down after her. -When I next caught sight of her she did not move like a cat any more. -She held in each hand a lighted candle, home-made and aromatic, and she -was going in and out among the trees, as if she were playing a game, -and all the time mumbling something that seemed to be a rhyme. - -Then she crouched low on the ground and exhorted Allah to be merciful -and forgive her her--. It was a word I did not understand, and the next -day I had forgotten it. - -After a time she rose, put the ends of the lighted candles between her -lips, went to the well, and drew water from it with a small tin cup -tied to a string. - -She watered all the trees of this clump, counting the drops as they -fell: “_Bir, iki, utch, dort, besh, alti, yedi._” On the seventh -she always stopped, and went on to the next tree. She did all the -counting without dropping the lighted candles from her mouth--which was -very hard, for I tried it a few days later. - -After the watering was ended, she blew out the candles, fell prone on -the earth, and begged Allah, the Powerful, Allah, the Almighty, to -forgive her. She wailed and wept, and told Allah over and over that -she was doing everything according to his bidding, for the sake of his -forgiveness. - -Hidden in the shrubbery close by, I wondered what could be the crime of -that radiant creature, who had enthralled and captivated my imagination. - -At length she rose, and danced a weird dance to the mouse-eaten looking -moon, in turn beseeching her: - -“Queen of the Night, Guardian of Womanly Secrets, Mother of Silent -Hours--intercede for me--help me!” - -She danced on and on, till she was quite worn out, and fell on the -ground weeping. - -I could endure no more; besides my teeth were chattering, and all the -aches that were so especially my own took possession of my frail body -again. I came out of my hiding-place to where the _halaïc_ lay. - -She looked up at me bewildered. Then she rose on her knees, and touched -me with her fingers, as if to ascertain that I were a living child. She -peered into my face through the tears in her eyes--and I, quite afraid -now, said not a word. - -At length she broke the silence. - -“Is that you, Greek baby?” - -“Yes,” I answered. - -“Who sent you here?” - -“Nobody. I came.” - -She extended her palms upward. Her face took on one of her mystic -smiles. - -“Allah,” she said softly. “Allah, thou forgivest me, the unworthy.” - -For a long time she prayed to that power whom she called Allah, and I -knew to be God. When her prayers were at an end, she gathered me to her -heart, and kissed me with love and fervent exaltation; and thus carried -me into the house. - -Again she rubbed me with hot oil, and in order to warm me better she -took me into her bed, and I slept, held fast in her arms. - -The next day I must have been quite ill, and she never left me; for -every time I opened my eyes she was there, crouching by me, wearing -her radiant smile, which would have coaxed any truant soul to return -to earth. At any rate it coaxed mine, which came again, though -reluctantly, to inhabit my poor little body. - -On the first day that I really felt better and could sit up, I took -advantage of her devoted attendance to question her. - -“What have you done so monstrous and wicked, which Allah must forgive -you?” - -After a moment’s thought, she answered me, simply and directly. - -“I gave not myself to a man, as Allah ordains that every woman should -do, and I have given no children to multiply the world.” - -For hours I puzzled over these words; but in the end I did get at their -meaning. New vistas, new horizons opened to my brain. What she meant, -of course, was that she was not married. - -In the middle of that night I awoke--and I woke her too. I sat up in -bed, determined to ask, till all was told to me. - -“Then why don’t you marry?” I demanded peremptorily. - -“Now, _yavroum_, you go to sleep. You are only a baby, and you -cannot understand.” - -“I’m not a baby!” I cried. “I know heaps and heaps of things, and if -you don’t tell me, I shall not go to sleep--and what is more I shall -uncover myself and catch my death of cold. So please tell me why you -don’t marry.” - -“I don’t want to.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because he whose children I should have been happy to bear is for ever -buried, beyond that hill, in the forest of Belgrade.” - -“That cannot be,” I said sceptically, “there is no cemetery there.” - -“No, _yavroum_,” she said softly, “but he lies there; for I buried -him.” - -Through the curtainless windows the stars were lending us light. The -face of the _halaïc_ shone sweet and tender, full of womanly charm -and loveliness. My little hand slipped into hers. Who shall deny that -we have lived before, that each little girl has been a woman before? -Else why should I, a mere child, have understood this grown-up woman; -and why should she, a woman, have thus spoken to me? - -There we sat, our mattresses on the floor, as near to each other as -possible, holding each other’s hands while the stars were helping us to -see--and perhaps to understand. - -“Like you, he was a Greek, and like you he said things about nymphs -and goddesses. He said that I was one of them, and he loved me. Some -day soon I was to be his. But in our household then there was another -man who vowed that no infidel should possess me. We were living at -the time over the hill, in the outskirts of the forest of Belgrade. -One night when the moon was at its waning, like the night you saw me -in the garden, that man killed my lover. I buried him myself--in the -forest of Belgrade--and, have tended his grave for these seven years. -I do everything to please Allah, and I never complain. To avert the -punishment which is allotted in the other world to the women who have -not done his will, I exhort him, according to the prescribed magics. -It is said that if during these rites, some time, a child should come, -it is Allah himself who sends it, to show that he understands and -forgives--and you came, _yavroum_, the other night.” - -She bent over and kissed me gratefully. - -“I shall work all my life for nothing, doing everything to help -others, in the hope that when I die, I shall be made very young and -very beautiful and shall be given to the lord, my lover. And maybe, -_yavroum_,” she added, almost in a whisper, “I may have a baby -like you--for you are a Greek baby, and he was a Greek.” - -I cuddled very close to her and kissed her, my arms wound around her -neck, and went to sleep. - -After that I no longer minded her being a _halaïc_, and even -at times being the donkey. For wherever I saw her, and in whatever -occupation, her background was always the Elysian fields. There she -walked in the glory of her beauty, and in company with her Greek lover. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -MISDEEDS - - -I did miss Djimlah and Chakendé and Nashan, yet the _halaïc_ made -up for a great deal, and what is more, knowing now that some day she -would go to heaven and meet her Greek lover, I was telling _her_ -the Greek history, or rather that part of the Greek history where the -Greeks were intermarrying with the gods. - -It is a pity that the world should be so large, and that we should -have to go from place to place, leaving behind those we have learned -to love. When the time arrived for me to go back to the island, I wept -copiously. I did so mind leaving behind Sitanthy and especially the -_halaïc_. She, however, in spite of the sorrow she felt at bidding -me good-bye, kept on saying: “Think, _yavroum_, you might never -have come, and that would have been far worse. Besides we must submit -to Allah’s will gladly, and not weep and show him our unwillingness to -obey.” - -It is three hours from the Bosphorus to the islands, by going from the -Bosphorus to Constantinople, and from Constantinople to the islands. -Tears kept on coming to my eyes from time to time, while the boat -was steaming on; yet no sooner did I get a glimpse of our own island -and our own pine trees than I forgot the _halaïc_ and Sitanthy -and my sorrow, and in spite of the people on the boat I burst forth -into a loud song of joy. I was never any good at tune, and there was -little difference between my singing and the miauling of a cat; yet -whenever I was particularly happy I had to express it by song, and only -a peremptory order would stop me. And while I sang, looking at the -island, I was only thinking of the three playmates I was to see, and -the _halaïc_ and Sitanthy were forgotten, as if they had never -existed. My thoughts were on the three, and on the pleasure they would -experience when they saw me returning to them--as indeed they did. - -That year was a memorable one in our lives, because it was the last -in which my three playmates would be permitted to go uncovered, and -play with children of both sexes. They were now nearing the age at -which little Turkish girls become women, must don the tchir-chaff -and yashmak, hide themselves from the world and prepare for their -womanhood. I was, of course, always to continue seeing them and -visiting them, but they could no longer enjoy the freedom they had -enjoyed up to now--now that they were to become women. - -I found all three deep in the study of foreign languages. In the -spring of that year Djimlah’s grandmother decided that it would be -very good for the three Turkish girls to go twice a week and spend the -morning at Nizam, where all the European children congregated. She -wanted Djimlah to see as much of the European world as possible before -she was secluded. It was thus that we all four, accompanied by our -French teacher, went to the pine forest of Nizam. We did not like this -as much as staying at home and playing by ourselves; but the old hanoum -was quite insistent, and for the first time made us do what she thought -best. - -It interfered greatly with my scheme of introducing my companions to -the wonders of Greek history, because now that I was a little older -my mother refused to let me spend the nights with Djimlah, and since -our time was quite filled with studies the only hours we had for -story-telling were those in which we had to mingle with other children. - -However, it was interesting, and the different acquaintances we made -taught us a lot of games we should never have thought of by ourselves. -I cannot say that we liked our new acquaintances particularly, at any -rate we did not love any of them. They were mostly silly, we thought, -and the English girls were stiff and we did not care for the way they -spoke French. Besides most of them had large protruding teeth, which -we thought very unbecoming to girls. We used to call them Teeth. - -It was there in the pines that we met Semmeya Hanoum. She was -much older than any of us, and she ought to have been wearing the -_tchir-chaff_, and to have been living in the seclusion of the -_haremlik_; but her people were not very orthodox, and Semmeya had -a way of her own of getting what she wanted, and what she wanted just -then was not to be secluded. - -We never quite made up our minds about her. We had days when we knew -we did not like her, for we did not consider her honourable. She would -rather cheat at games than play fair, and she would always tell a fib -to get out of a disagreeable predicament. Again there were days when we -almost loved her for she was very fascinating. - -That year we were particularly unfortunate in doing things we ought -not to have done. In many of these--until Semmeya brought her clever -mind to bear--we seemed hopelessly entangled. For example, when we -stole grapes from a vendor who had fallen asleep. We did not mean to -steal: we only thought of how wonderfully exciting it was to walk up on -tip-toe, reach the grapes, get a bunch, and slip away without awakening -the vendor. Semmeya and Djimlah and Chakendé and I accomplished it -successfully. As Nashan was reaching for a bunch she slipped--and the -man awoke! - -We did not know what would have happened to us--as we talked it over -afterwards--we thought we should probably have been taken to prison to -spend our young lives there, without light or air. We were only saved -from that dreadful fate by Semmeya’s inventiveness. - -Nashan stood there, petrified, staring at the vendor. Djimlah hid her -face on my shoulder; I was trying to hide behind Chakendé; and Chakendé -was trembling all over. - -Semmeya walked straight up to the man and said to him proudly: - -“A vendor who has something to sell must _never_ go to sleep. We -wanted some grapes, and of course we had to have them, and naturally we -took them. Now, how much do we owe you, vendor?” - -The man was entirely apologetic, and begged to be forgiven. He said, -since we were four, it would make about an _oka_ of grapes, and he -would let us have them for four _paras_. I knew he was cheating -us in asking four pennies. By no possibility could we have taken an -_oka_. - -Having paid him we walked away with our heads high, but I trembled, and -I know Djimlah did, too, for her arm in mine was shaking. - -We spoke then of our feelings and of the awful thing that happened to -our hearts when the man opened his eyes. Djimlah wept at the thought -of being caught as a thief. “Why did we do it, _yavroum_?” she -kept on wailing to me; “why did we do it?” - -“I don’t know why we did it,” I replied, nor did I know then why we -kept on getting into scrapes, from the consequences of which Semmeya -always saved us. I know now that every bit of devilry we perpetrated -was at her instigation. - -While we were not conscious of her evil influence, and were fully -grateful to her for saving us, yet we always mistrusted her; and once -in despair we came together and debated how to tell her that we did not -care to have her for a friend any more. - -Nashan then gravely remarked: “We must remember that without her -several times we should have been compelled to die.” - -This we acknowledged to be true, and resolved still to bear with her. -Moreover, Semmeya was a remarkable story-teller, and on rainy days, -when we could not play outdoors, we would congregate in one house and -Semmeya would hold us enthralled with a fabrication of her imagination. -She could thrill us or make us laugh, at will, and was the undisputed -queen of rainy days. - -Just the same, we never felt that she was quite one of us--even I who -was much more under her spell than the others. We came to know that -whenever she wanted anything she was going to get it, and that some -one else would pay for it. - -“It is her Greek blood that makes her so,” Chakendé said one noon; then -looked up at me in fear; but at these words Djimlah declared that it -was time to pray, and they all fell on their knees, facing Mecca. They -knew I would not attack them while they were praying, and they made -their devotions long enough for my anger to cool somewhat. - -The legend about her Greek blood was that her grandmother had been -taken from the island of Cyprus, when a baby, and sold into a -_haremlik_. Semmeya told us that only after she was married and -had children did her grandmother learn that she was a Greek; and then -she hanged herself from despair. Perhaps this matter of the Greek -grandmother helped to make Semmeya dear to me, although now, as I look -back upon it all, I think it was because instinctively I understood a -little of the curse of temperament, and poor Semmeya had a large share -of it. - - * * * * * - -The following year Semmeya was married, and three days before her -wedding we were invited to see her trousseau, and to be feasted and -presented with gifts. We had reached the age when we began to talk of -love and marriage in tones of awe, with the ignorance of children and -the half-awakened knowledge of womanhood. And, after we came away from -her, we put our heads together and whispered our hope that her husband -would never find out what we knew about her character. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -HOW I WAS SOLD TO ST GEORGE - - -Shortly after Semmeya’s wedding an epidemic of typhoid fever swept -over Constantinople. Owing to our unsanitary drainage conditions such -epidemics were not rare. All four of us had the fever. With me it was -so acute, and lasted so long, that the doctors gave me up as a sickly -child who had not the strength to battle for health. My lengthy illness -left me alive, it is true, but as a fire leaves standing a structure -which it has completely destroyed within. Apparently there remained -nothing solid to build on. The doctors intimated as much when they said -I might eat and do what pleased me--and went away. - -To them I was only a hopeless patient. It was different with my mother: -she would not give up the fight. - -In her despair, and when science failed her, she turned to what in -reality she always had more faith in--her religion, and particularly -her favourite saint, St George of the Bells. Him she had inherited -from the paternal side of her family, of which he had been--shall I -say--the idol, for more than two hundred years. - -I did not share her predilection. My own particular saint was St -Nicholas, even then when I was beginning to take pride in my critical -attitude toward religion. Looking back, and raising the veil from my -once ardent devotion, I must admit that my partiality originated in a -life-size icon, painted by a celebrated Russian, and presented by the -Russian church to the monastery of St Nicholas, where I used to go for -my devotions. I was only four years old when the icon was sent, but I -fell an immediate victim to its beauty. Had it represented St Gregory -or St Aloysius, my devotion would have been the same. It is always thus -with us: scratch a Greek and you will find a pagan. - -However, when my mother told me that she was going to send for St -George of the Bells, I raised no objection. I knew enough of his deeds -to have a respectful fear of him. Among the orthodox Greeks, especially -among those who, like us, lived on the sea of Marmora, to send for a -saint is an awe-inspiring act. One does not have recourse to it except -as a last resort. It is, moreover, an expense that few can afford, -though I have known poor Greek families to sell even their household -effects to have the saint brought to them. - -From the moment that it was decided the saint should be sent for, -our house was in a tumult of cleaning. My room especially was made -immaculate, and I was put into my finest nightgown. No coquette was -ever more carefully arrayed for the visit of a handsome young doctor -than I was for the saint. A large table, covered with a new white -cloth, was placed near my bed. On it was an incense-burner, flowers, -and a bowl of water--to be blessed, and used to bathe my face so long -as it should last. - -Two men, for their strength and size called _pallikaria_, had -gone for the icon. St George of the Bells, though on the same island -with us, had his monastery up on the highest summit of the mountains, -several miles from our house. In order to receive the saint with proper -ceremony my mother sent for the parish priests. They arrived shortly -before the icon, dressed in their most festive robes of silver thread, -and with their long curls floating over their shoulders. - -The _pallikaria_ arrived, bearing the saint, and preceded by a -monk from his monastery. When they brought him into my room, though -I was very weak, I was raised from my bed and placed at the foot of -the icon. It was quite large, and painted on wood. The face alone was -visible: all the rest had been covered with gold and silver, tokens -of gratitude from those whom the saint had cured. Rings, ear-rings, -bracelets, and other jewellery were also hanging from the icon, while -hundreds of gold and silver bells were festooned about it. - -My room was filled with the members of my family, and a few of the most -intimate and pious of our friends. Candles were lighted, and mass was -solemnly sung. Afterwards everybody went away, and I was left to the -care of St George of the Bells. - -Owing to the distance, the icon and the monk could not return to the -monastery the same day, and were to spend the night at our house. I was -then twelve years old, and as I have said, beginning to be sceptical of -the religious superstitions about me. Yet the ceremony had impressed -me deeply; and in the solemn hours of the night, with only the light -of the _kandilla_ burning before the icon, a certain mysticism -took possession of me. I was shaken out of my apathy, and believed that -St George could save me, if he wanted to, and if I prayed to him--and -pray I did, too, most fervently, though I should have been ashamed to -confess it after the daylight brought back to me my juvenile pride in -being a sceptic. - -In the morning, when the _pallikaria_ came to fetch the icon, one -of the powerfully built creatures, a man whose hair was already growing -white about the temples, approached my bedside and said with great -solemnity: - -“_Kyria, mou_, he means to cure you. I have not carried him for -twenty years without learning his ways. Why, when we went to take him -from his place he fairly flew to our arms. I know what that means. You -will get well, for he wanted to come to you. Sometimes he is so heavy -that we can hardly carry him a mile an hour--and I have known him to -refuse to be moved at all.” - -The old _pallikari_ was right. St George did cure me. In a few -months I was stronger than I had ever been in my life. It was then -that my mother--partly out of gratitude, partly in order that he might -continue to look after me--resolved to sell me to St George. - -For three days she and I fasted. Early on the morning of the fourth day -we started, barefooted, for the mountains and St George’s monastery, -carrying wax torches nearly as tall as I. At first I was ashamed to -meet people in my bare feet, until I noticed with elation that they all -reverently uncovered their heads as we passed. - -It was a long, weary walk. Up the mountains it seemed as if we were -climbing for heaven. The road zigzagged steeply upward, now revealing, -now hiding the monastery from our eyes. At last we reached the huge -rocks that surrounded it like a rampart. - -Everything was ready for our arrival. The _Hegoumenos_, the head -monk, received us. I was taken to a little shrine, bathed in holy -water, and put to bed, after receiving some _soupe-maigre_; for I -was to fast three days longer. My little bed was made up on the marble -floor of the church. At night, another was arranged beside it for my -mother, since I could not be induced to sleep alone in the church. - -During the three days spent in the mountains I forgot completely that -I was a person holding advanced ideas, and that I did not believe in -superstitions. There was something in the atmosphere of the place which -forbade analysis and called only for devotion. - -My mother and I were the only persons who slept in the church. There -were a number of insane patients in the monastery itself. St George -of the Bells is renowned for the number of cures of insanity which he -effects. The head monk, as a rule, is a man of considerable education -and shrewdness, with no mean knowledge of medicine. The insane patients -are under his care for forty days, with the grace of St George. They -practically live out of doors, take cold baths, dress lightly, and eat -food of the simplest. In addition to this they received mystic shocks -to help on their recovery, and, I believe, usually regain their mental -equilibrium. - -While I was staying at the monastery a young man was brought there from -Greece. He was a great student of literature, and very dissipated. The -two combined had sent him to St George. He was a handsome fellow, with -long white hands, and a girlish mouth. He was permitted to go about -free, and I met him under the arcade of the monastery, declaiming a -passage from Homer. When his eyes met mine, he stopped and addressed me. - -“I am coming from Persia, and my land is Ithaca. I am Ulysses, the -king of Ithaca.” Then he threw out his hands toward me and screamed, -“Penelope!” - -One may imagine that I was frightened, but before I had time to answer, -he burst into a peal of laughter, and exclaimed: - -“Why, you are Achilles, dressed in girl’s clothes. But you will come -with us to fight, will you not?” - -Much to my relief a monk came up and said, “Don’t stay here and listen -to him. It only excites him.” - -I became quite interested in the young man after this, and later -learned that when his forty days were at an end, by a sign St George -intimated that he was to remain longer; and a few months later the -young man returned to his country entirely cured. - -There was one of the monks, Father Arsenius, who was as devout as my -mother. To him I really owe all my pleasure while in the monastery. He -was an old man, but strong and active. He took me every day for rambles -about the mountains, and never would let me walk uphill. He would pick -me up and set me on his shoulder, as if I were a pitcher of water, and -then, chanting his Gregorian chants, we would make the ascents. One -day we were sitting on one of the big rocks surrounding the monastery. -Miles below we could see the blue waters of the Marmora, and far beyond -it the Asiatic coast of Turkey. The air was filled with the smell of -the pine forest below. Father Arsenius had been telling me of the -miracles performed by St George. - -“It is curious, Father Arsenius,” I commented, “that they should -have built the monastery so high up. It is so difficult to get to, -especially when one comes on foot, the way we did. How did they think -of building it up here?” - -“No one thought of it. The saint himself chose this spot. Don’t you -know about it, little one?” - -I shook my head. - -Father Arsenius’s face changed, and there came into it the light which -made him look almost holy. In a rapt tone he began: “It was years ago, -in the fifteenth century, when a dream came to one of our monks, a holy -man, chosen by the saint to do his bidding.” - -He crossed himself three times, raised his eyes to the blue above, and -for some seconds was lost in his dreams. - -“The saint appeared to our holy monk and said: ‘Arise and follow me, -by the sound of a bell, over land and sea, till the bell shall cease to -ring. There dig in the earth till you find my icon; and on that spot -build a chapel, and spend your life in worshipping me.’ - -“Three times the vision came to the monk; then he arose, went to his -superior, and with his permission started on his pilgrimage. As soon -as he left the monastery he heard the sound of the bell, and following -it he travelled for months, over land and sea, until he came to this -island. Here the sound of the bell became louder, until finally it -stopped. On that spot he began to dig----” - -“On what spot?” I interrupted. - -“Down by the little chapel, where now the holy spring oozes forth. -There the monk found the icon, and with it in his arms went about -begging for money to build the chapel.” - -“He must have been a very powerful man if he carried that icon about,” -I commented, “for now it takes two _pallikaria_ to lift it.” - -Father Arsenius smiled his kind, fatherly smile. “My little one, -when our saint wants to, he can make himself as light as a feather. -After the monk had collected sufficient money he went to the Turkish -authorities and asked permission to build his chapel. The Turks had -just conquered Constantinople, and we had to ask permission for -everything at that time. The pasha to whom the monk applied refused -him, saying that there were already churches enough.” - -Father Arsenius’ face, as he spoke, was no longer holy. He looked a -Greek, boiling for a fight. Gradually his features regained their calm -and he smiled at me, as he continued: - -“That night St George came to the monk in his dreams and bade him start -building without permission of the Turks. In the morning the monk -climbed the mountain, and with the help of two other monks began his -work. Ah! but I should like to have been that monk,” Father Arsenius -cried--but he would not permit his soul even the envy of a holy deed, -and humbly added: “Thy will be done, saint.” - -“Didn’t the Turks interfere any more?” I asked. - -“Yes, they did, my little one. While the work was in progress they -heard of it, and sent word to the monk to stop it. He replied that he -obeyed higher orders than theirs. The pasha was furious, and set out -himself for the island, swearing he would hang the monk from his own -scaffolding. - -“But he reckoned without St George. At that time there were no roads -on the island, not even a path leading up here. The pasha and his -followers became lost in the woods, and had to spend the night, hungry -and thirsty, under the pine trees. In the middle of the night the -pasha woke up, struggling in the grip of St George. He cried out to -his companions. They were tied to the trees. St George beat the pasha -with the flat of his sword until he was tired. Then he commanded him -to fall on his knees and promise to permit the chapel to be built. The -terrified Turk did as he was ordered, and, of his own accord, promised -to give money to build a large monastery, and he kept his word.” - -Father Arsenius looked at me with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, and -I laughed aloud to hear how the Greek saint had got the better of the -Turkish pasha. - -“I have been here for fifty years now,” Father Arsenius went on -presently; “and my wish is to die in the service of my saint.” - -“Do you think that when I am sold to him, he will take care of me?” I -asked. - -“I do not think so--I know so. His power is omnipotent; and his -kindness to people is wonderful. When there is any mortal disease among -them, he leaves here, goes out and fights for them.” - -“How do you know that?” - -“Because I hear him go, and come back.” - -I was overwhelmed. No trace of scepticism or unbelief remained in me. - -“Is he here now?” I asked, in the same mystic tone as the monk. - -He shook his head. “He left here just before the cholera broke out in -Constantinople.” - -“But the cholera is over now.” - -“Yes, I am expecting him back at any minute.” - -“How do you hear him come and go?” I asked, unwonted fear of the -supernatural conquering me. - -“You will hear him, too, if he returns before you go. Everything in the -church moves and shakes when he leaves it or re-enters it.” - -“But if he should not come back while I am here, how can I be sold to -him?” - -“That does not matter,” Father Arsenius reassured me. “He will know of -it when he comes back--though I think that sometimes when people are -not cured, it is because he is far away, and his grace does not reach -them.” He bowed his head. “I have given my heart to him, and he has -purified it. I am his slave, and shall be so for life.” - -“I will be his slave, too,” I put in eagerly. Had I been asked at that -moment to become a nun, I should have done so gladly, such was the -influence Father Arsenius had over me. - -He rose. “Come, little one, let us go.” - -I put my little hand into his big, hard one--he was also the gardener -of the monastery--and together we walked through the _koumaries_ -with which the mountain was covered. These are evergreen bushes, -which at a certain season bear fruit like cherries, which have an -intoxicating effect. Strangers, not understanding this, are sometimes -found helpless beneath the lovely bushes. - -As we came near the monastery Father Arsenius shaded his eyes with his -hand and gazed over toward the mountain ridge beyond. - -“The wind is rising. It will be very high to-night,” he said. - -The conversation with the monk had put me into a deep religious -fervour. I fell asleep that night in the church, and dreamed of the -monk who had travelled over land and sea, following the sound of a bell. - -How long I slept I cannot tell when I awoke in terror. I sat up and -peered around by the dim light of the _kandillas_ burning before -the icons of the various saints. The large glass candelabra hanging -from the ceiling were swaying to and fro, jingling their crystals, -producing a ghastly sound. The bells on St George’s icon were tinkling; -two or three windows slammed, and there was a rushing sound through the -church. It all lasted only a short time, and then quietness returned. - -My mother awoke, though she was not so light a sleeper as I. “What is -it?” she asked startled. - -“It is St George coming back,” I answered. - -We both fell to praying, and I did not sleep any more that night. And -my heart was filled with pride that I had heard the coming of the saint. - -At the end of my three days’ fast, mass was celebrated, and then my -mother presented me to the _Hegoumenos_. - -“I wish my daughter to become the saint’s slave,” she said. - -“For ever?” he asked. “If so, she cannot marry.” - -“No; until her marriage. Yearly I will pay the saint a pigskin full of -oil and a torch as tall as she is. At her marriage I will ransom her -with five times this, and with five _medjediés_ in addition.” - -The monk took me in his arms and raised me up so that I could kiss the -icon. Then he cried, in a voice so full of emotion that it made my -devout mother weep: - -“My Saint, unto thee I give the keeping of this child!” - -From the icon he took a silver chain, from which hung a little bell, -and placed it round my neck. - -“You are now St George’s slave,” he continued. “Until you return and -hang this with your own hands on the icon it must never leave you.” - -I kissed his hand, and the ceremony was over. We paid what we owed, and -left the monastery and good Father Arsenius with the assurance that a -power from above was having especial watch over me. - -From that time on my mother gave her yearly tribute, and the saint -kept his word to look after me. - -Although when I was married I was in America and my mother was in -Russia, she did not fail to pay the ransom which made it possible for -me to change masters without angering the saint. In place of the little -silver chain and bell, which I could not return personally, she gave a -gold one. - -As I write I can see the badge of my former slavery where it hangs -around a little old Byzantine icon in my room. I have never been -separated from it. During the whole of my girlhood I wore it; and when -I was in a convent school in Paris it gave me a certain distinction -among my mystified companions, who could hear it tinkle whenever I -moved. - -Asked about it, I only said that it was the badge of my slavery. -This gave rise to a variety of stories, invented by their Gallic -imaginations, in which I, with my bell, was the heroine. - -As I look at it now, it reminds me of the three days spent with St -George--the three days during which sensuous mysticism completely -clouded my awakening intelligence. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE MASTER OF THE FOREST - - -On our return from the monastery we had the great joy of finding my -brother at home, back that very day from Europe. I was so delighted I -could hardly sit still. My happiness was dashed to the ground, when, -in the course of the next half hour, he remarked that he must leave -us in a few days to see the Bishop of Xanthy. I was speechless with -disappointment until my mother said: - -“Oh! that is lucky. The little one needs a complete change to become -quite herself again. She can go with you.” - -Thus it was quickly settled, and a few days later we set off. The first -part of the journey was like any other. We went to Constantinople and -took a train, which, after due deliberation, started, and in due time -again--or rather, not in due time--reached Koumourtzina. There began -what seemed to me our real journey, for we were now to travel entirely -on animal-back. - -We started on mules, in the afternoon, and rode for three hours at a -smart trot. In front of us lay the forest of Koumourtzina. Geography -has always been a closed science to me, so I have no idea where this -is, except that it is somewhere in Turkish territory, and on the way to -Xanthy. - -It was near nightfall. We took a short rest at a small village, ate a -hearty meal, exchanged the mules we had been riding for horses, and -started out to cross the forest. There was a silvery moonlight over all -the landscape, and the lantern which our guide carried, as he walked -in front of the horses, blinded us more than it helped us. We asked -to have the light put out, but the _kouroudji_, who was also the -owner of the horses we were riding, insisted on the lighted lantern as -part of the convention of the forest. - -My saddle was made of camel-bags, filled with blankets and clothes, and -the motion of the horse was smooth and soporific. I became drowsy from -the long day’s ride, and now and then stretched myself in the saddle. - -In the very heart of the forest my horse reared so unexpectedly that -had it not been for the vast pillowy saddle I should have been thrown -to the ground. My brother’s horse not only reared but whirled about -like a leaf in a storm. The _kouroudji_ seized the bridle of my -horse and patted and spoke to him, while my brother, who was a very -good horseman, managed to calm his own mount somewhat, and to keep him -headed in the direction we wished to go. - -“What is it?” I asked the _kouroudji_. “Why are they behaving like -this?” - -The Turk turned to my brother. “The effendi knows?” - -“I’m afraid I do. They smell blood.” - -“So they do, Bey Effendi. It is not the first time this accursed forest -has been the grave of men. _Allah kerim!_” - -He took hold of the bridles of both horses, and spoke to them in -endearing terms. There is an understanding between Turks and horses as -touching as the friendship between them and dogs. - -From a monotonous and tedious journey, our ride, of a sudden, -had become most exciting. Although the horses now followed the -_kouroudji_ obediently, they whinnied from time to time, and -shivered. - -“Don’t be frightened,” said my brother to me, “and whatever happens -keep your head, and don’t scream. Screaming will do no good, and it may -lead to mishandling.” - -“But can’t we go back, Mano?” I asked. - -“We shall gain nothing by trying to. If a murder has been committed, we -may come upon the corpse. If it is something else, we are already in -the trap.” - -Before I had time to ask him what he meant by this, a shot was fired -over our heads, and, simultaneously, a number of forms emerged from the -forest. - -We were surrounded, and several dark lanterns flashed upon us. - -“Halt! Hands up!” - -“All right!” said my brother. - -Five men glided close to us, and I saw three pistols pointing at -us. I could now see our captors distinctly. They had on the Greek -_foustanella_, white, accordion-pleated skirts, stiff-starched, -reaching to the knees. Below they wore gaiters ending in the -_tsarouchia_, or soft-pointed shoes. Their graceful little jackets -were worn like capes, with the empty sleeves flapping. The Greek fez -with its long black tassel completed their picturesque costume. - -I do not know whether Greek brigands are really any better than -Bulgarian or Turkish ones, but the sight of their Hellenic costume -lessened my fears considerably. It sounds very silly, but my warm and -uncritical patriotism embraced all Greeks--even brigands. Impulsively I -cried out: - -“_Yassas, pallikaria!_” (Health to you, men!) - -The brigand next me, whose large brown hand was on the neck of my -horse, laughed. - -“_Yassu, kera mou!_” (Health to thee, my lady!) - -“What is it all about, _pallikaria_?” my brother asked. - -“The master of the forest, hearing of your passing through, claims his -privilege of making you his guest awhile.” The man laughed at his own -pleasantry. “Will you dismount of your own accord, or shall we lend you -our assistance?” - -“Considering that you are five, and we are only two, and a half--” My -brother had a philosophic way of accepting the inevitable. - -“We are more than five,” remarked one of the men, pointing behind him -into the forest with his thumb. - -“You are plenty, in any case,” returned my brother, dismounting. He -helped me from my horse. In French he said: - -“There is a mistake. It is a long time since you and I possessed enough -to attract these gentlemen; but be polite and friendly to them.” - -The brigands ordered the _kouroudji_--who also accepted the whole -occurrence with philosophic calm--to proceed to Xanthy and report that -his charges were captured by brigands, who would shortly communicate -with their relatives. - -“Will he really travel for two days, just to carry that message?” my -brother asked with curiosity. - -“Crossing this forest is his business. He knows that, if he does not do -as we say, this forest will become his grave.” - -Paying the _kouroudji_, my brother bade him good-bye, and two of -the brigands conducted him off. - -They had told us the truth when they said there were others in the -woods, for presently many more came up, and, with somewhat sardonic -humour, bade us welcome. - -“We are sorry to have to blindfold you,” said one, and took a big red -pocket-handkerchief from his pocket, which he began to fold on the -bias, for my eyes. - -“Please, _pallikari_, do you mind using _my_ handkerchief?” I -asked. - -“If it will please you, _kera mou_.” - -I handed him my handkerchief. - -“_Ma!_ that’s too small.” - -“Can’t you use two together?” I asked, giving him another. - -He took them and tied the ends together, then slipped the bandage over -my eyes, while another held up the lantern for him to see by. - -“_Empross!_” (Forward!) they said. - -I felt a big rough hand take mine, and we started off into the thick -woods. We were mounting gradually, and the underbrush became thicker. -Presently I tripped and fell. - -“_More_ Mitso!” my guide called to some one ahead. “Come back and -make a chair with me to carry the little girl. She is stumbling.” - -The other returned; they joined their hands together, and I took my -seat on them, placing my arms around the men’s necks. I was neither -frightened for the present nor apprehensive for the future: I was -merely excited and enjoying the situation. My love of adventure was -being gratified to the full, and for once the knowledge that we were -poor was a satisfaction. As my brother had said, the days in which we -had money were so long left behind that even we ourselves had forgotten -them. - -I felt sure that as soon as the brigands discovered their mistake -they would let us go, the customs of the brigands being as well -known as those of any other members of the community. Besides, had -not my brother said it was all a mistake--and at the time my brother -represented to me the knowledge of the world. I only hoped that the -brigands would not realize it before we reached their lair. - -Up, and ever up we went, the men sure-footed in spite of the -underbrush. They halted at last, and set me down. - -One of them whistled. - -We waited a full minute, and he whistled again. Then one of them sang -in a rich baritone the first lines of the Greek national hymn-- - - “Oh, Freedom! thou comest out of the holy bones of the - Hellenes--oh, Freedom!” - -From somewhere in the vicinity another voice took up the refrain, and -shortly afterwards there came a crash and a rattle of chains. - -Some one took my hand again, and I felt that we passed through an -opening. Now we were descending; and gradually the coolness of the -night air changed to warmth, and the smell of food came to our nostrils. - -We stopped, and our bandages were removed. - -I blinked and rubbed my eyes. We were in a large low room, the floor -of which was partially covered with sheep-skins. A fire was burning, -inside a ring of stones, in the middle of the floor, which was the bare -earth, and a man was sitting by it, cross-legged, cooking. - -“_Kali spera sas kai kalos orisete!_” (Good evening and welcome!) -he said to us. “The master will be in shortly. Pray be seated.” - -We sat down on some sheep-skins, and I looked about me with interest. -The longer I looked the larger the room grew. Its shadowy ends seemed -to stretch off indefinitely. The ceiling was roughly vaulted, and -I judged that it must be a cave, of which there are many in the -mountains. Numerous weapons lay on the ground or hung on the walls, but -there was nothing terrifying about the place. - -Very soon the leader came in. He was a man of about forty, dressed in -European clothes and unmistakably a dandy. He was tall and well-built, -and his black hair was parted in the middle, and carefully combed into -two large curly waves. His long black moustache was martially turned up -at the ends. - -He bowed to us as if he were a diplomat, and we his distinguished -guests. - -“Welcome to our mountainous abode. I am very glad to meet you.” - -He shook hands with us warmly. - -“We, too, are very glad to meet you,” said my brother; “but I cannot -understand why you are taking all this trouble. What we could afford to -give you would not keep you in cigarettes a week.” - -“Are you quite sure, Mr Spiropoulo?” - -“Good gracious, my dear sir,” Mano cried, “you don’t mean to say you -take _us_ for the Spiropouli?” - -The chief smiled a most attractive smile it appeared to me; though my -brother afterwards described it as fatuous. - -“I hope you did not find the ascent too difficult,” the leader inquired -solicitously. - -“Two of the _pallikaria_ made a _skamnaki_ for me,” I put in. -“It was very nice of them.” - -I have always spoken my mother tongue with considerable foreign accent, -not having learned it until after I spoke French, German and Turkish, -and this accent at once attracted the attention of our host. Gravely he -asked: - -“Did you acquire this French accent, mademoiselle, in the short time -you have been studying the French language. Let me see, it is three -months now since you passed through the forest before. That was the -first time you left Anatolia, I believe--and one does not acquire a -French accent in Anatolia.” - -From Mano’s face I knew that he was troubled, therefore I refrained -from being impertinent in answer to our host’s impertinence about my -accent. The latter went on lazily: - -“We were sorry to miss you before. We fully intended offering you our -hospitality then--only you changed your plans so suddenly, and arrived -a week before you had intended to. I am glad we were fortunate enough -to secure you this time. One pines for social intercourse in the -mountains.” - -The leader’s Greek was excellent. It was easy to see that he must have -been well born, or at least well educated. He stretched himself on a -sheep-skin near, and called to the cook: - -“A whole one, boys!” Then, turning to us: “No one will be able to say -that we did not kill the fatted lamb for you.” - -The cook, squatting by the fire, rose, walked over to an opening at one -side of the cave, and called: - -“A whole one, Steryio!” - -Returning to the middle of the room, he lifted up a trap-door, which -disclosed a large, bricked-up cavity, and began shovelling live coals -and brands into it from the fire. - -Mano opened his cigarette case, and offered it to the chief. - -The latter accepted it, and examined its contents critically. - -“They are good, Mr Spiropoulo,” he said with condescension, “but I -believe you will find mine better.” - -From his pocket he drew his own case, and passed it to my brother. - -“Excellent!” exclaimed Mano. “I know the brand.” - -“They were a present from his Holiness, the Bishop of Xanthy.” - -“Do you still give the church five per cent. of your--your revenues?” -my brother inquired. “I heard his Holiness mention this devotion of -yours to the church.” - -Our host laughed pleasantly. “So his Holiness said that, did he?” - -Two men came into the room carrying a lamb made ready for roasting. -They held it while a third impaled it on a long iron bar. Then the bar -was laid across two iron projections, over the bed of embers, and a -handle was fitted to the end of the bar. One of the brigands squatted -down and began slowly turning the spit, and the others shovelled more -embers into the cavity underneath the lamb. We could feel the heat even -where we sat. - -We all watched with interest the man rhythmically turning the lamb over -the fire. Gradually he began to hum a song in time to his turning. -It was one of the folk songs about the Armateloi and Kleftai, those -patriotic bandits who waged a guerrilla warfare against the Turks for -years before the Revolution broke out in 1821. It is a period dear -to the hearts of all Greeks; for it prepared and trained the men who, -during the terrible nine years of the Revolution, were to stand up -against and defeat the enormous armies of Turkey. - -It is a period unique in the history of any nation, a period full of -grandeur of individual achievement, and it has been immortalized in -_Laïk_ poetry. I do not believe that there is a Greek to-day -who does not know at least some of these long poems, composed by the -Armateloi themselves, put to music by themselves, and transmitted to us -by word of mouth, from father to son. - -As the brigand at the spit went on with his song, it was taken up like -an anthem by others, who began to swarm out of little cubby-holes -in the sides of the cave, which were hidden from view by hanging -sheep-skins. They squatted around the roasting lamb, or stretched -themselves on the ground, and snatched at the song, here, there, -anywhere; and the fumes of the meat mingled with the song, and the song -became part of the meat; and all blended with the vaulted room, and the -glorious white fustanella gleaming in the firelight. - -One must be born under an alien yoke to understand what the love of -one’s fatherland is. Until the last year the Greeks may have gained -little in the estimation of the world, since a small portion of them -wrenched themselves free from the Turkish yoke. But those who condemn -them must remember that since the time of Alexander the Great, the -Greeks have passed from one conqueror to another--escaping annihilation -only by rendering their conquerors themselves Greeks in literature and -thought. At last they fell under the yoke of a race which neither could -learn their language nor cared for their civilization, and for four -hundred years they dwelled under this Asiatic dominion. - -On this night, in the brigands’ cave, I understood the power Greece had -over her sons. These men were nothing but cut-throats. They would kill -or mutilate a man for money: yet as they sang the songs of those other, -more glorious brigands, who had striven for years in desperate fighting -against the conquerors of their race, they seemed to be touched by -something ennobling. Their faces shone with that light which comes from -the holiest of loves--patriotism. - -They sang with fervour, and when they came to the parts relating -victories over the Turks, they clapped their hands and shouted, “_So! -so!_” - -From one song they passed to another, while the lamb ever turned in -time to the music, and men brought chestnuts, potatoes, and onions, and -roasted them in the edge of the smaller fire--always singing. - -Of a sudden one man broke into a gay little song of the monasteries: - - “How they rubbed the pepper, those devilish monks!” - -To the giddy words and the infectious tune, a dozen men sprang to their -feet. They held out their handkerchiefs to each other, and instantly -there was a garland of dancing brigands about the fire. It was our -national dance, the Syrto, and they went through it with gusto and -passion. - -By the time that was over, the lamb was cooked. We were invited to sit -round in a circle; the meat was torn apart with the hands, and a piece -dealt to each person. - -Each brigand crossed himself three times, and then fell to, ravenously. -I enjoyed my dinner as much as they. My poor brother pretended to. As I -learned afterwards, he was afraid that the brigands would kill us from -mere annoyance, when they discovered that we were not the rich pair -they believed they had in their possession. - -The meal over, the brigands crossed themselves again devoutly, and -thanked God, and His Son Christ, for the protection they had hitherto -extended to them. Then they began to talk of their exploits. Far from -being conscience-stricken, or in any way ashamed of their profession, -they gloried in it; and being in constant warfare with the Turkish -soldiery, they felt a really patriotic pride in their manner of life. - -They told of running a certain Turkish officer through the heart -without the slightest pity for the man, or shame of the deed. Was he -not a Turk, their arch enemy, and the enemy of their race? Their point -of view on the ethics of life was quite original to me, and as they -boasted of the things they had done, something barbaric in me responded -to their recitals. I loved them, and as for their leader, he was a real -hero to me. - -Again they passed from themselves to the heroic period of the Armateloi -and Kleftai, when brigandage attained its apotheosis. - -After the fall of Constantinople, the Greeks were powerless against -the Turks. The other powers of Europe, during two hundred years, were -too frightened to think of more than saving their own skins; and when, -later, they did interfere in behalf of the Christians under the Ottoman -yoke, they did so only as an excuse for their personal gain. - -Thus the Greeks had to depend on themselves, and in time the flower of -Greek manhood took to the mountains. Then the wrongs done by the Turks, -to their weak and defenceless fellow-countrymen, were fiercely and -brutally punished by these brigands. It was these Armateloi and Kleftai -who put an end to the human tax which the Greeks had been forced to pay -the conqueror. If a little girl was taken by force from a Greek home, -the brigands would fall upon a Turkish village, and avenge the wrong -on the women and children of the Turks. - -It was a very rough form of justice; but gradually the Turks began to -fear the brigands, and in this fear they became more considerate toward -the Greeks. - -That period, with all its ferocity and unspeakable brutality, was -the period of modern Greek chivalry; for those men did not attack -for money. They levied on the people merely for enough to live; but -when they descended on them as avengers of their countrymen’s wrongs -they were merciless--and they did rob the Turkish garrisons. In the -Revolution of 1821, much of the powder used by the Greeks was Turkish -powder, and many a Turk died by a gun he once had carried. - -My brigands knew every one of the ballads of that time. They snatched -them from each other’s mouths, and recited them with no little talent -and dramatic power. They passed on to the Revolution itself, and to the -poetry which followed afterward. It was then Mano and I joined in. At -that time I knew the poetry of the Revolution better than I have ever -known any other subject since. Mano and I recited to them the poems -of Zalakosta and of Soutzo, of Paparighopoulo, and of the other great -poets who were inspired by the exploits of the Greeks from 1821 to -1829. - -The enthusiasm of the brigands became tremendous. These poems, unlike -those of the Armateloi and Kleftai, are written in pure Greek, not in -the _Laïk_ language, and naturally they belong to the educated -classes rather than to the people. My brother egged me on to recite, in -a way foreign to his nature. - -“Tell them the ‘Chani of Gravia,’” he cried. - -This poem is one of the finest of modern Greek poems. It relates a -fight which took place in an inn, during the Revolution, between a -handful of Greeks and a Turkish army. In the middle of the night, -during a lull in the fighting, the leader tells his men that death -is certain, and that the only thing left them is to cover death with -glory. It describes how, each seizing his arms, they burst forth upon -their sleeping foes, and by the miracle that sometimes attends on noble -courage cut their way through, and every man escaped. - -In part, the poem may be apocryphal, but it is founded on fact, and -thrills us to the marrow of our bones. It substantiates our claim to be -descendants of the old, heroic Greeks. As I recited to them the “Chani -of Gravia,” the brigands fell under its spell; and some of the love -they felt for that glorious fight fell upon me too. I became a small -part of that poem into which I was initiating them. - -After I had finished, one of them called hoarsely: - -“Say it again!” - -I repeated it again, from beginning to end. - -When the last line was ended, some of the men were weeping. - -“We shall yet drive out the Turks--by the help of God, we shall!” - -They were still deeply moved by the poem when my brother spoke to them. - -“_Pallikaria_, you have just heard the little girl reciting to -you what can only be learned in an educated home.” He turned to the -leader: “You cannot now believe that the child’s unfortunate accent is -an affectation, acquired in the last few months. _Pallikaria_, you -cannot for a moment think that my little sister is the Spiropoulo girl, -coming out of a parvenu home, with money the only tradition.” - -Again he turned to the leader: - -“I take it that you speak French. Speak to her and to me in it, and -satisfy yourself that we know it. Some of your men here are from -Albania, and undoubtedly they know Italian. She can talk with them in -that language. Will not all this prove to you that she has lived out of -Anatolia all her short life?” - -“Who are you then?” cried the leader, but before we could answer he -ordered us to remain quiet. He disappeared behind a sheep-skin, and -returned with a paper and pencil, which he handed to my brother. “Write -here your name and that of the little girl. Write also from where you -come, and whither you are going.” - -My brother wrote all he was asked to, and returned the paper to the -leader. - -The latter read it, surprise and anger mingling on his face. He turned -to me: - -“Your name?” - -I gave it. - -“Your brother’s?” - -I gave that, too. - -“Where have you come from?” - -I told him. - -“And where are you going?” - -Again I told him. - -He tore the paper into bits, in a fury. - -“Anathema on your heads, you idiot _pallikaria_!” he cried. “You -have captured the wrong people, while the others are now escaping us.” - -“I happen to have read in the paper,” put in Mano, “that Spiropoulo and -his sister are going by boat to Myrsina, and thence to their homes.” - -There was consternation among the bandits. - -“We have very little,” my brother continued. “Take what we have, and -let us go.” - -“Oh, please! please!” I implored, “do not take my ring. It is the only -piece of jewellery left to me.” - -“Here! here!” one of the men exclaimed; “we are not in the habit of -sheering lambs--it’s sheep’s wool we are after, eh, captain?” - -The leader did not reply to him. He was regarding us, more in sorrow -than in anger. - -“When I shook hands with you to-night,” he remarked, “I felt as if I -were shaking hands with thousands of golden pounds. And now----” - -He wagged his head, like a good man upon whom Fate has played a scurvy -trick. - -“We shall get Spiropoulo yet,” said one of the men hopefully. “He has -entirely too much money, and we have too little. Our motto is ‘Equal -Division.’” - -“You’re right, _pallikari_,” another assented, and the two shook -hands. - -By this time it was the small hours of the morning, and the party began -to break up. - -Some of the men rose to their feet, put on their _kosocks_, -saluted the leader, and started off on their business. By the entrance -was a large icon of St George, their patron saint. Each brigand, before -going out, halted in front of the icon, made the sign of the cross, and -reverently kissed the hand of the saint. - -“Come with me, my holy Saint,” each implored. - -I almost giggled at the idea of St George going with them and assisting -in the capture of harmless men. - -Then the lanterns in the cave were put out; but first two small oil -lamps were lighted, one to be placed in front of the icon of St -George, and the other in front of an icon of the Virgin Mary, which -stood in the depth of the cave; for no pious Greek will leave the icon -of a saint in darkness, and many poor persons will go without food in -order to buy the necessary “oil of _kandilla_” for their icons. - -All of the remaining brigands, before lying down on their sheep-skins, -stood for a minute in front of the icon of the Virgin silently saying -their prayers; and then I heard them saying aloud, after kissing the -feet of Mary: - -“Guard us and keep us healthy and strong, our dear little mother; and -now good night, little mistress of heaven.” - -They crossed themselves with a piety befitting monks, and I had to -stuff my handkerchief into my mouth to keep from betraying myself. - -Then slumber descended upon the cave. The fire had died down, and only -the dim rays of the two little oil lamps illumined the great room. - -It was harder for us to go to sleep than it was for the brigands. In -the first place, the sheep-skins they had given us were alive with -fleas. Mano lay close to me, keeping his arm around me. - -The events of the day had excited me tremendously, and my brain would -not rest. When we alone seemed to be awake, I whispered: - -“What was that blood which frightened our horses? Had the brigands -already killed some one?” - -“No, I believe it was only the blood of some animal. They often -sprinkle the road with it in order to terrorize the horses and assist -in capturing the travellers. But now you must go to sleep.” - -I was young; I had ridden many long hours; and fleas or no fleas, -brigands or no brigands, I fell asleep. - -The strong smell of coffee wakened me in the morning. My brother -already held a cup of it. - -“Did you sleep well?” he asked. - -“I must have--but look at my hands!” They were dotted with red bites. - -The cave had lost something of its romantic appearance of the night. -There were only three brigands in the room, and they were busy -preparing food. One of them got a towel, or what served for one, put -a few drops of water on the end of it--water seemed to be very scarce -with them--and brought it to me to wash my face and hands. He was a -very kind young brigand. He brought me some food, and a cup of the -strongest coffee I ever tasted. - -He watched me eat as if he had been my nurse, and when I was finished, -asked a trifle sheepishly: - -“How did you learn so much poetry?” - -“Out of books,” I replied. - -“Then you can write, too?” - -“Very well,” I asserted complacently. - -He became visibly embarrassed. Finally he blurted out: - -“Just write out for me the ‘Chani of Gravia.’ Write it twice--no, three -times, for I shall always want to read it two or three times.” - -I not only wrote it twice for him, but taught him to spell it out--or -rather to memorize it; for his scholarship was very rudimentary, while -his memory was excellent. I spent most of the time in this occupation. - -During the course of the day we were told, quite unsensationally, that -in the evening we might continue our journey. - -At nightfall we parted from the brigands with cordial expressions of -friendship on both sides. They shook hands with us, and many of them -assured us they had enjoyed our stay very much, and were sorry to see -us go. Only the leader was sulky in his manner. “I thought you two were -worth thousands of pounds,” he repeated grudgingly. - -“The ‘Chani of Gravia’ was worth all the trouble we took,” my pupil -hastened to say, as if he feared we might be hurt by the lack of -cordiality in his chief. - -We were again blindfolded, and two of the men led us out of the cave -and back to the place where they had captured us. - -How they had obtained horses, I cannot imagine, but we found horses -waiting for us. - -I rode away with an exhilaration I could not calm. - -“If I were a man,” I said emphatically to my brother, “I should become -a brigand. It is a beautiful life.” - -For the leader, with his curling hair and his black moustache, I felt -an especial admiration, in spite of his stand-offishness. He was long -my ideal of a hero; and it was one of the bitterest disappointments of -my girlhood when, some years later, in a fight between his band and an -overwhelming number of Turkish soldiers, he alone of all his men put up -a pitiful fight, and died like a coward. - -I wept when I read about it, not for him, but for my lost ideal--for -the trust and admiration I had placed on a man not worthy to be a -leader of Greek brigands. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -ALI BABA, MY CAÏQUE-TCHI - - -Our return journey to Constantinople was uneventful. There we found our -mother, who had decided to spend the winter in the town and not on the -island. I was not supposed to be well enough yet to resume my studies -seriously. My brother left us shortly for Europe again. - -It would have been a dreary and miserable winter for me, away from my -home and the country, separated from my playmates and cooped up in -small city rooms, with only buildings to look at on all sides, had it -not been for a discovery I made. By accident I stumbled upon a big -volume of Byzantine history, a history, till then, practically unknown -to me. - -As page after page gave forth its treasures, my interest in the people -of which it wrote increased, and loneliness and boredom departed, not -to return again that winter. After I finished the book it came over me -that all these marvellous things I had been reading about had taken -place yonder, at Stamboul, half an hour from where I sat. Instantly -the desire took possession of me to re-read that history, chapter -by chapter, then cross over to Stamboul and find the actual places -mentioned. - -This was not so easy to accomplish as one might think; for I had to -reckon with the elders, who would have a thousand and one objections to -my going over to the Turkish city. I went immediately to my mother, and -without any preamble--which I knew to be the best way, in order to take -her breath away--told her of my project, speaking of it casually as if -it were as simple as drinking a glass of water. - -She gave me the puzzled look with which she often regarded my little -person. I believe that every time I came before her she wondered anew -how I happened to be her child; for she was tall and beautiful, and -very conventional in her desires, and I was small and elfish, and -my desires were usually for things she could not imagine any person -wanting. After I had finished speaking, she replied quietly: - -“What you ask is out of the question; for we have no one, you know, who -can waste so much time every week accompanying you.” - -“I don’t want anyone,” I replied. “I would much rather go alone.” - -The puzzled expression in her eyes deepened. “Go alone--over there? But -I have never been there alone in all my life.” - -“I know that, mamma, but you know perfectly well that there are a -great many things you never did, or will ever bring yourself to do, -which I have already done. Besides,” I pleaded, “my father is dead now; -my brother is away; you took me from my home and brought me to this -horrid town, and you don’t even let me go to school on account of my -weak lungs--and what is there left for me to do?” - -“Well, well,” my mother compromised, “you had better let me think it -over, child.” - -The result of her thinking culminated in my being accompanied to the -former capital of the great Byzantine Empire by an uninterested and -unsympathetic female elder. - -It was an utter failure, this my first attempt at archæological -research. The elder, besides being unsympathetic, had a supercilious -way of talking, and prided herself on her ignorance. Before the -afternoon was at an end she became tired and cross, and then coaxed me, -saying: “Why don’t we go and see the lovely jewels and silks in the -market, and there I shall treat you to a plate of _taouk-okshu_.” - -I agreed at once, not because I was willing to sell my Byzantine -interests for a plate of sweets, but because her presence spoiled my -pleasure. - -That evening my mother and I had a conversation of an animated nature, -a conversation which was continued the next day and yet the next, -and grew more animated with each session, until on my side it reached -stormy heights--and my mother’s nature abhorred storms; so I obtained -the coveted permission of going alone to the city of Byzantium. - -“Mind though, baby,” she cautioned, “don’t ever cross the Golden Horn -in a boat. You must always go by the bridge.” - -It had not occurred to me to take the boat, but once the suggestion -was made, it took possession of my brain, and tormented it to such an -extent that on arriving at the Galata Bridge my feet turned straight -to the quay where the Turkish boatmen were squatted, contemplatively -“drinking” their _narghiles_. - -“A boat!” I commanded, imitating as far as possible my mother’s manner. - -The first man of the row put aside his _narghile_ and rose -quietly. Unlike all the other nationalities in Turkey, the Turks alone -never jostle each other for a fare. They have a system of their own -which they scrupulously adhere to. - -The _caïque-tchi_ who approached at my summons was an old man. -He was dressed in full baggy trousers, and wore a white turban on his -head. He must have been already old when Sultan Medjid, thirty years -previously, had substituted the fez for the turban, and he had not -cared to adopt the new head-dress. - -“What does the little _hanoum_ wish?” - -“To cross,” I replied, with the same haughty manner as before. - -He bent down, unfastened the rope with which his slender, graceful -little _caïque_ was tied, and I stepped into it and settled myself -blissfully among the cushions in the bottom. - -Before he had rowed me half-way over I remembered that I had forgotten -to strike a bargain with him. “By the way,” I said casually, “what is -your fare?” - -“A _kourous_ and a half” (threepence) he said promptly. - -“_What!_” I cried. “If you are not ready to accept half that, you -may just as well take me back.” - -He stopped rowing. “Take you back! But where would be the profit?” - -“I don’t know,” I replied, “but that’s the answer the dead philosopher -made to Charon.” - -“If he were dead, how could he make an answer?” he asked. - -Thereupon I found myself in my most favourite pastime--initiating -somebody into the Greek writings; and as I explained to him Lucian’s -“Dialogues of the Dead,” the old Turk listened intently, paddling very -slowly, slightly bending toward me, his kind eyes twinkling, his face -wreathed in smiles--looking very much like a nice, big, red apple, -shrivelled by the frost and sun. - -By the time I had finished the story of the philosopher, we were -approaching the other side of the Golden Horn. - -“You see,” I concluded, “you get more than Charon did out of the -transaction; and besides, since I am going over there three times a -week, you may become my regular boatman, and if you are over here with -a fare at sunset you may wait for me, and take me back, too--only then -I shall pay you one _para_ less.” - -It was not because I was of a miserly disposition that I was bargaining -so hard; but I had only one _medjedié_ a month, and the elders -invariably borrowed a part of it back from me, so that I was always in -straitened circumstances. - -“Why are you going over there so often?” he asked kindly. - -I liked his baggy bloomers, of the colour of the stained glass windows -one sees in the old cathedrals; I liked his being faithful to the -turban, and I fell in love with his kind, beaming old face. Besides, -the way he enjoyed the story of the philosopher and Charon convinced -me that he was not like most of the dreadful elders--so I told him the -reason. - -His oars again became suspended in the air, and he listened with intent -interest. - -“Is it in the Koran you read all those things?” - -“Oh, no,” I said, “in a book bigger than the Koran.” - -“How can that be?” he asked incredulously. - -Then I amplified, and told him of Constantine the Great, of how he left -Rome to build a new city, hundreds and hundreds of years before the -Turks had even thought of leaving Asia and invading Europe. - -His attention to my words delighted me. I had not been so happy for -ever so long; for next to reading books I loved to impart them, since -in the telling I tasted them better. They became clearer to me. -Besides, sharing things from books is a joy to which there is nothing -comparable. - -“You can read all this?” he exclaimed admiringly, “you, who are no -bigger than my thumb! But then your people could always read, though -they were no kind of fighters and we beat them.” - -He did not mean to be rude, I knew. It was his direct, oriental way of -stating a fact, and I did not resent it. But I did explain to him that -in the past we had been _very_ great fighters--though I kindly -abstained from telling him how we had fought them in the Revolution, -and how we beat them. - -That he was genuinely interested he proved to me when we landed. - -“_Benim kuchouk, hanoum_ (my little lady) I should love to be -your _caïque-tchi_, both ways, and I shall charge you only two -_paras_ for each crossing, if you will only tell me what you are -going to see every day, and whether you found it over yonder.” - -I extended my microscopic hand, and he took it solemnly in his big, -horny brown one. - -“You are a dear, Ali Baba,” I cried. I did not know what his name was, -but Father Ali seemed to suit him. - -Byzantine history, combined with my search in old Byzantium, and Ali -Baba’s rapt attention to my expounding of it, made that winter a very -happy one. I generally returned when the city was bathed in the sunset -light; and these hours with Ali Baba, listening, his oars poised over -the waters of the Golden Horn--truly golden at this hour--were hours of -enchantment for me. How could we help becoming fast friends, sharing -as we did such magical moments together. I liked him so much that I -began to economize and make him presents I thought he needed, such as -a new shirt, a new pair of stockings, a new cloth for his turban; and -it almost broke my heart when one evening, as he was landing me on the -Constantinople side, he, too, made me a present. It was a very gaudy -red and blue handkerchief, filled with raisins and _leblebia_--a -delectable grain only to be found in Turkey. - -I accepted these, apparently delighted, yet wondering what I was to -do with them. It would have been impossible to enter the house and -go to my room without having to explain the handkerchief and its -contents--and the handkerchief would mean telling about the crossings -in the boat, and I did not wish to contemplate what would follow that -disclosure. - -With a great deal of heart-aching I had to dispose of the sweets. I -gave them to some urchins in the street, and my ache in a measure was -relieved by the joy they manifested. - -Although this was the only winter I travelled with Ali Baba, I never -forgot him. Indeed the bond between us was too great lightly to forget; -and when I came to town I always managed to save a half hour for him. -I would go directly to the quay, and if he were not there I would wait -for him till he came back from the other side. If he were there, he -always rose quickly, unfastened his little _caïque_, and off we -were; only to stop in mid-stream, his oars poised in the air, his kind -eyes twinkling, his mouth half-opened with a smile, listening to the -things I had to say of books and of travels. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -MY LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN - - -The following year I was sent to Paris for my studies, where I was -to remain three whole years, without returning home; yet on my first -summer holidays my mother changed her mind and sent for me. That -summer, too, we were not to spend at our home on the island, but in -Pantich, an adorable, sleepy, little Turkish village, on the Asiatic -shore of the Marmora. - -Pantich is as far behind the rest of Turkey as the rest of Turkey -is behind Europe. Its traditions are those of the Byzantine period, -when Constantinople was the capital of the Greek Empire. The Turkish -quarters cluster around the _Tzami_, which is built in a square of -plantain trees, with a fountain in the middle. The Greek houses make a -belt around their little Orthodox Church, with a school on its right -and a cemetery on its left. - -And though the Turks and the Greeks are divided like the goats and the -sheep, all men wear the fez, and all women veil their faces. - -Only one event ever happened in Pantich: the coming of the railroad -through it. Small wonder that, when the trains began to run, the -inhabitants brought their luncheons and sat all day long close to the -rails, waiting to see the wonderful thing pass, which ran of its own -accord, with a speed beyond the dreams of the fastest horse. Small -wonder, too, that the rents of the houses near the track began to go up -like speculative stocks in a Wall Street boom. - -The house we took belonged to a Turkish lady, who became at once the -great interest of my life, although she was never to be seen. We heard -that she was the former wife of dashing young Nouri Pasha, whom we -knew on the island of Prinkipo, and who was famous for his looks, his -riches, and his many beautiful wives. We transacted our business with -her through one of her slaves. The lady herself had never been seen -since the day she left her husband, eight years before, and came to -bury herself in her maternal property here. - -Our house was surrounded by a very large garden and an orchard, the -trees of which were so old and so patched that I was never surprised on -climbing a cherry tree to find plums growing there, or at the top of -a plum tree to discover _dzidzifa_. It became a game with me to -climb the highest trees, to see what would grow on the top branches. -These trees were grafted with the greatest ingenuity, not for the -fruit, but for the colour scheme in blossom time. - -At the end of our orchard there was a drop of about eight feet, and -there began the garden surrounding the house where our proprietess -lived. It must have comprised a hundred acres, and ended at the sea. It -was not cultivated, like the other properties, but was mostly woodland, -with flowers in the clearings. What I could see of it fascinated and -attracted me. I had an idea that if I could penetrate into that garden -I should surprise the spirits of the flowers and trees, who, thinking -themselves protected from human intrusion, must come forth from their -earthly shells to parade under their own shadow. - -We had been in our new, old house for two weeks, and when I was neither -reading nor climbing the trees I was scheming how to get into the -garden. In all my reconnoitring I had never seen or heard a human being -in that garden below, and if I had not known that people lived there I -should have thought the property abandoned. - -My mother went away for the week-end. It was early afternoon, and -the entire universe was at siesta. I chose that hour to make a still -closer search for a means of getting down those eight feet, to roam the -beckoning garden. If discovered, of course, I should have to pretend -that I had fallen in accidentally. - -I came as near to the edge as I could, and before I knew it, down went -the stones under my feet, and down went I, followed by more stones. In -falling my teeth cut my lip, and made it bleed. - -I lay partially stunned, but certain I was not badly hurt; for all my -limbs had answered to the call of my little brain. Then I heard the -pit-pat of running feet, and waited to see what would happen. - -A young woman came and bent over me. - -“_Yavroum_, are you hurt?” she asked. - -“No,” I answered. - -“But you are bleeding!” she exclaimed in a horrified tone. - -She was joined by another woman, somewhat older, who was out of breath -from running. - -“Is she dead?” she cried. - -“It will take more than this to kill me,” I declared, and moved to get -up. - -“No! no! Be still. We will carry you to our mistress,” they commanded. - -Willingly I obeyed. One took hold of my shoulders, and the other of -my feet, and they carried me to a small summer-house, in a grove of -cypresses. A tall slender woman dressed in the green of the grass half -rose from a couch. - -“Is she hurt, Leila?” she asked, and it was as if I were a little -bird fallen from its nest, so remote and impersonal was the interest -manifested in her voice. If at the time I had been familiar with -Maeterlinck, I should have thought that I was a minor actor in one of -his unreal plays, and the lady in green the leading character. - -“She’s bleeding, mistress.” - -“Then you had better carry her into the house.” - -She rose and preceded us. Her walk, like her speech, seemed remote from -common earth, and to my half-closed eyes she seemed to float along, not -to proceed step by step, as do common mortals. - -They carried me into the vast hall of her house, paved with cement, -and ending in a balcony overhanging the sea of Marmora, and laid me -on a couch. The mistress of the house sat by me, and touched my cheek -lightly with one of her fingers. - -“Get some fresh water, Leila,” she commanded. - -The younger of the two slaves lifted an iron cover in the middle of the -hall, and dropped down an old black iron bucket, which, after a long -minute, touched water in the depths of the earth. The water she brought -me was icy cold. They bathed my mouth, and put a wet towel on my head. -Inwardly I was laughing at all this attention; but I was quite content. - -When the bleeding stopped, the lady ordered a sherbet. It was made of -fresh cherries, cool and sweet, and I ate it with great relish. Then -the lady in her soft, remote voice crooned: - -“You are the baby of my new tenants, are you not?” - -“I am not a baby,” I answered, insulted. “I’m quite grown up, only I’m -undersized--and all my frocks are three years old. But because they -are in good condition, and I can’t outgrow them enough, I must keep on -wearing them.” - -She laughed. “I have been watching you since you came here, and it -seems to me wonderful that you haven’t been killed several times. Why -do you keep on climbing those trees?” - -“To get my afternoon tea up there,” I answered. “Besides which it keeps -me thin.” - -The light of amusement danced in her eyes, but she did not laugh again. - -“I can see what you think in your eyes,” I said. “You think that what -I need is fattening. My family takes care of that; for I am made to -swallow everything from _vin de quinquina_ to any other drug they -may see advertised, with or without the consent of the doctor. And if I -were to get fat they would then start on the opposite drugs.” - -At this she burst forth into peals of laughter, and in the midst of her -laughing she said: “I do believe you are older than you look.” - -I gave a jump and sat upright. The two slaves, who were standing over -me with their arms crossed, exclaimed in unison: “She must not move, -mistress, she must not move!” - -“Now lie down, like a little dear, and tell me how old you are.” - -“To show you how old I am,” I said proudly and priggishly, “I may tell -you that I have finished my Greek studies, and have been a year in -Paris. I return there again in September.” - -“In Paris! You have been in Paris?” she asked reverently, losing some -of the remoteness in her voice. - -I was pleased to notice the interest I was arousing in her. - -“Oh, I have been there several times before, only now I am there as a -student.” - -“I am going to send word to your mother that you fell into my garden, -that you are a little hurt, and that I shall keep you all the -afternoon.” - -“You needn’t trouble yourself,” I said, “for there’s nobody at home but -the maids. I shall be all alone for two days now.” - -“Indeed!” Her eyes shone with pleasure. “Then perhaps you would like to -spend those two days with me?” - -“I should love to,” I cried, “but I must first make a little -confession.” - -She leaned over me and forced me to lie down. She was still quite -Maeterlinckian. - -“What is your confession?” - -“The reason I fell into your garden,” I proceeded very quickly, “was -because I was reconnoitring how to manage to fall into it. I wanted -very much to see your garden--and you.” - -“Why?” - -“For many reasons,” I answered diplomatically. - -“Give them to me.” - -“W-e-l-l, you have lived here for years now, without ever leaving the -place.” - -“I don’t know of anyone in Pantich who ever does leave it.” - -“Y-e-s, I know; but you are different.” - -She leaned over me with the look of a severe fairy in her large dark -eyes. - -“You just tell me why you wished to see me.” - -“All the truth?” I asked. - -“All the truth.” - -“Well, for the romance which surrounds you. You left Nouri Pasha and -his beautiful houses to come and live here, in this very old house, in -a place where nothing ever happens. Besides I imagined you to be very -beautiful.” - -“And do you find me as beautiful as you thought me?” - -“I don’t know. All I can think of when I look at you is--a fountain----” - -“To call _me_ a fountain is almost like a wicked jest,” she -interrupted. “A fountain gives constantly forth the riches of its -waters.” - -“But the fountain you remind me of had no waters. It was a big -fountain, in the middle of which sat a bronze lady looking exactly like -you. The waters were to pour forth from her two extended hands--but -none came. The gardener told me they had lost the key, and they had -never been able to unlock it. And, as there were many more fountains in -the place, they did not bother.” - -A cloud passed over her face. - -“Then I _am_ like your fountain.” - -She sat drooping, her hands clasped in her lap, gazing before her with -that gaze which sees not the seen world. At length she shook off this -mood and turned to the slave: - -“Leila, go to the little bird’s home, and say she is with us, and that -I shall keep her till her mother returns. And you, Mihri, can go and -make the room next to mine ready for this little child.” - -“Please don’t call me ‘little child,’” I exclaimed. “I am fourteen -years old, and at my age my great-grandmother was married and had a -son.” - -She paid no heed to my words, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts. - -“When you go to Paris somebody accompanies you, of course.” - -“Not always. I know all the captains of the Fabre Line, and all the -officers. I am placed in their care, and at Marseilles I take the -train, and reach Paris the same day, where I am met. Anyway, I could go -to the end of the world by myself.” - -The word Paris seemed to possess the power to give her whatever -semblance to life she could acquire. - -“But sometimes somebody may go with you as a companion--yes?” - -“Yes,” I assented. - -She rose, and crossing the vast hall, stood on the balcony overhanging -the sea. When she came back to me her eyes seemed changed. They were -larger, deeper, and full of mystery. She was more than ever like the -Lady of the Locked Fountain. - -“I am very glad you fell to-day into my garden. I think--I--shall like -you.” She sat down comfortably by me, cross-legged, her long string of -amber beads held in her clasped hands. “Tell me, what do you do with -the books you are so interested in when you are not trying to dig your -grave by climbing the trees?” - -“I read them,” I answered puzzled. - -“Read? Read what?” - -“Just read,” I answered again. “Don’t you read?” - -She shook her head. - -“Don’t you ever read anything?” I exclaimed, for my own life was made -up of books. Then the suspicion came to me that perhaps she did not -know how. “Can’t you read?” I asked. - -“I learned when I was a child; and I can still read the Koran, where I -know it pretty well, and some poetry.” - -“Then you do read poetry?” - -“Not now; for I know my poems by heart.” - -I stared at her in amazement. “You don’t know by heart all the poems in -the world, do you?” - -“No, unless all the poems in the world are ten,” she answered smiling. - -I pondered a minute over her state of mind. “I think I should go mad -unless I had books to read,” I observed. - -“What is in them?” she asked, more simply than I had ever asked about -anything in my life. At that moment she was a pure Asiatic, descended -from a thousand Asiatic ancestors, from whom the books have kept their -secrets. “What is in them?” she repeated. “Aren’t they all alike?” - -“Each book is the history of a human being, or of a whole race; and -sometimes it takes books and books to tell you about the one or the -other.” - -“How many have you read in all?” - -“Thousands,” I answered vaingloriously. - -“And do you love them all?” - -I shook my head. “No, there are horrid books, as there are horrid -people; but most of them are beautiful, full of the lives and stories -of people who have lived and dreamed and done things in the world.” - -“Tell me some of them.” - -She bent her head and listened, while I told her some of my favourite -tales; and as I talked she became excited, and laughed when the stories -were funny, and cried if they were sad. - -During the two days I spent with her, I related many of the books I had -read; and at the end of my stay we were close friends, for if I was a -child in years she was one in experience. And she was so delightfully -simple, with a simplicity which must have made God glad to have created -human beings. - -If she was ignorant of books, she was curiously full of ideas -concerning things she had observed. Because she lived in solitude and -watched the sky, she knew all the stars--not by their scientific names, -but by ones she invented for herself. As we sat on the balcony over the -water she told me that at certain seasons of the year a large luminous -star kept watch over the opposite side of the Marmora. She called it -the Heavenly Lily, and knew the exact hour it appeared every night, and -how long it would stay. She told me that the coming of certain stars -had to do with the growth of certain flowers and crops. She spoke of -them not as stars, but as heavenly watchers, whose earthly worshippers -were the flowers. The water she referred to as the earth’s milk. She -disliked the winds, but she loved the storms, “because they proved -that Allah could lose his temper. It is nice,” she added in a very -low tone, as if afraid that he might hear her, “it’s nice to feel that -Allah himself has failings.” - -But if she were ready to talk of her thoughts, there was a certain -aloofness about her which exempted her personal affairs from -discussion. Indeed I still had the impression of talking with the -bronze lady of the fountain. This attitude of hers several times -arrested on the tip of my tongue the sentence: “Why did you leave -handsome Nouri Pasha?” - -Just before I went away, she asked, _à propos_ of nothing, “When -do you leave for Paris?” - -“At the end of September, or may be the first week in October.” - -“It is a very long way off,” she murmured, half to herself. - -“It will pass quickly enough.” - -She remained silent, in that silence which is full of whispers. One -felt the talking of her thoughts. - -After this first visit it became a habit of hers to send for me often -to spend entire afternoons with her. She let me climb her trees and -gather fruit for our afternoon meal, while the slaves drew cool water -from the well. - -When our friendship was a few weeks old I asked her: “Do you like -living here all alone in this old house? Nouri Pasha has so many other -houses, both on the island and on the Bosphorus, which are ever so -much nicer than this old one. Why don’t you take one of those?” - -“This is not Nouri Pasha’s house,” she corrected me. “This is my -own house. I was born here, and I love it. You mustn’t call it old, -otherwise it will be offended, and its shadow will grow dark when you -come into it.” - -I did not say anything for a while, and it was she who spoke again. - -“You know Nouri Pasha then?” - -“Oh, yes. He lives near us on the island, and I love the horses he -rides. They are so large and shiny; and I can tell it is his carriage -from very far off, because he has so many unnecessary chains on the -harness, which dangle and make a fuss.” - -She laughed like a child at this description, and I, encouraged by the -laugh, asked boldly: - -“Did you love him very much?” - -“I think so,” she replied simply. - -“Frightfully?” - -The girlish adverb amused her. - -“Perhaps--even so.” - -As she said the last words her voice became remote, her eyes took on -their unhuman expression, and she turned again into the Lady of the -Fountain. Yet her lips opened, and she said: - -“Tell me a story, fairy child, a story about Paris.” - -And because Alexander Dumas _père_ has lived and written, I could -tell her of France in dazzling colours, and in dazzling deeds. In the -midst of my story she broke in: - -“Have you ever seen--” She stopped abruptly. “Go on, go on, dear. -Forgive me for interrupting.” - -“Have I ever seen what?” I insisted. - -A forbidding look made me continue my story. - -She became a regular part of my life. I even was obedient at home, for -fear that as a punishment I might be kept from her. As soon as luncheon -was over, I would lie down for my hour of rest, then dress quickly and -go to the place where I had first fallen into her garden. There we now -had two ropes fastened, for me to slide down. Sometimes she would even -be there, ready to catch me before I touched the ground. - -We were fast friends, yet our friendship partook of the unreal, since -she never gave me anything except her impersonal thoughts. Of her past -life she never spoke, and her heart was as withheld from me as the -waters of the fountain to which I had compared her. - -Again one day she began: “Have you ever seen--” and again broke off, -and insisted that she had meant to say nothing, and apologized for not -knowing what she wanted to say. - -I pondered a good deal over the unfinished phrase, and finally thought -I had found the end of it. So one afternoon when she began for the -third time, “Have you ever seen--” and stopped, I added--“Nouri Pasha’s -other three wives? Yes, I have seen them, and if I were a man I’d -gladly give all three of them to get you.” - -She turned squarely upon me, a look of amazement in her deep brown -eyes, which at the moment were full of the light of the sun and -appeared golden. Then she exploded into laughter. Peal followed peal, -and I was cross at her for making me appear stupid when I had thought -myself so clever. - -“Just what made you think this?” - -Out of my anger, I answered brutally: “Well, it is quite natural that -you should want to know about the women who have supplanted you.” - -The instant the words were uttered I repented of them, and I should -have tried to gain her pardon, except that she did not even seem to -have noticed my brutality. - -“I know how they look,” she said calmly: “and men would not agree -with you about the exchange. Besides they are all younger than I, the -youngest is only three years older than you--only as old as I was when -I was married.” - -Her voice had been growing colder and colder, and the chill of November -frost was on the last word. Fortunately Leila came in with her zither -to sing and play. When the time came for me to go away, my friend -kissed and patted me for a long time, and said: - -“When the _hanoum_, your mother, goes away again, will she not let -you come and stay with me, if I send word I will be responsible for -your neck?” - -Thus it came about that whenever my mother went off for a week-end, I -found myself the guest of my Lady of the Fountain, and slept in the -little room off hers. During one of these visits, she came in at night, -and sat down near my bed. - -“When you go to Paris this time, some one will accompany you,” she said. - -“No, I am going alone.” - -She shook her head. “No, no, you will have some one with you, for I am -going with you.” - -I was amazed to the point of speechlessness. When I regained my tongue -I exclaimed: - -“You know perfectly well that the government will never permit it.” - -“Yes. That is why I shall not ask the government. I have always wanted -to see the world, and especially Paris. I never saw how I could do it -till you fell into my garden--and I know that I can trust you.” - -“But how will you manage it?” - -“I shall be your companion.” - -“You can’t, you speak neither Greek nor French. Every one will guess -you are Turkish.” - -“I can be an Armenian, and as for French I am going to learn it. We -have time. You can teach me.” - -Nothing delighted me more than an adventure--and such an uncommon one. -Until late into the night we talked about her trip, studying it in its -various aspects. We decided that I should first write to the convent -where I stayed in Paris to ask if they would take an Armenian lady. -Later I was to write to the Compagnie Fabre and engage her stateroom. -“But the passport,” I cried suddenly. “You must have a passport, you -know, to leave Turkey.” - -“Oh, that I have thought of, and I have it all arranged. You know -Sourpouy, the Armenian girl, the lace-vendor of the village? She is -tall like me, with brown hair and brown eyes. I shall ask her to go to -Athens for me, to buy me some laces there. I shall pay her expenses, -and a good commission. She must, of course, have a _teskeré_--yes?” - -“Naturally.” - -“Well, she will get it. She will bring it here. I will examine it, and -so will Leila. While she examines it, she smokes; but Leila is very -awkward--the paper comes near her match, and it burns. You see?” - -“I see, only----” - -“Only what burns is not the passport. I am very angry. I scold Leila, -and then Leila says: ‘It is an omen for you not to send poor Sourpouy, -because it means that Sourpouy is going to drown.’ And that makes -Sourpouy very superstitious. She will not get another passport, even -when I promise more commission--and in this manner, you see, I am left -with my passport.” - -We laughed happily over her plans, and she astonished me with her -common sense and practical knowledge. And she, who had done no studying -since she was a little girl, applied herself to learning French like a -poor but ambitious student. - -She arranged the twenty-four letters of the French alphabet in three -rows, on a large sheet of paper, and learned them all in two days. Then -she cut a hole in another sheet of paper just large enough to permit a -single letter to show through, and slipped this about over the alphabet -at random, in order to make sure she knew the different letters without -regard to their relative positions. In two weeks she was reading -fluently in a child’s book of stories I had brought her. Of course she -did not understand all she was reading, but her progress, nevertheless, -was marvellous. Since then I have taught many persons French, but never -one who learned it so quickly, and her melodious Turkish accent made -the French very sweet to hear. - -A dressmaker was engaged to make her some European clothes. This would -arouse no suspicion, since Turkish women often amused themselves by -having a European dress or two made for indoor use. And I was to buy -her a hat and a veil. “If it is not becoming to me, I can buy another -in Athens when the boat stops there,” she said. - -Our plan was for her to stay all the winter in Paris, and return with -me in the spring; or, if she got tired of Paris, to return with me at -Christmas. Her slaves were devoted to her. Leila was her foster-sister, -and a childless widow, and knew of no other happiness than to serve -her mistress; and Mihri, who was the elder sister of Leila, knew of no -other happiness than to serve the two younger women. The two sisters -were to stay at home and pretend that their mistress was ailing, and -since she hardly ever went out of the house, or received anyone, it -would be an easy matter to hide from the world that the former wife of -Nouri Pasha was away from home. - -Our talks now were entirely about our journey. Yet there were times -when, with her fingers clasped, and watching the ships on the far -horizon, she would lose herself in reverie. Then she seemed to be -suddenly inexplicably sad. Once when I was spending a week-end with -her, she passed the entire afternoon gazing at the sea, her face -immobile and lifeless. - -After I had gone to bed that night, she came to me as was her custom, -and kneeled by me to kiss me good night. Of a sudden she put her arms -around me, and said quickly, as if she were afraid of her own words: - -“_Yavroum_, have you ever seen Nouri Pasha’s children?” - -“Yes,” I answered, “I have seen them all: the three little girls, and -the tiny little boy.” - -“Tell me about them.” - -I told her all I knew, and especially of the little man who was less -than a year old. I had seen him just before we came to spend the summer -in Pantich. His mother had been ill ever since his birth and could not -nurse him, and thus he had a French _nounou_, who wore yards and -yards of ribbon on her bonnet. - -That night was the first time that my Lady of the Fountain was -pathetically human. She thirsted for every scrap of news I was able to -give her about these children who were not hers, but the man’s who had -put her aside. When she left me she did not go to her own room, but -downstairs, and I heard her opening the door leading out on the terrace -below. Thinking about her I fell asleep, and when, several hours later, -I awoke again, the pathos of her life was magnified to me by the -darkness and stillness of the night. I rose from my bed, and went to -her room, to tell her how much _I_ at least loved her. - -She was not there, and her bed was undisturbed. - -Where could she be? I crept cautiously downstairs, and through the open -doorway out on the terrace. - -She sat huddled in a corner, watching the sea, in the same attitude -which had been hers all that day. Quietly I sat down beside her, my -arms stealing around her. She did not speak to me at once, and when she -did her voice was unsteady, and shaking with unshed tears. - -“Everything has a purpose in life--even the stars so high and -remote--and I alone am purposeless. Just because I lost my husband’s -savage love, I left him, without a word, without an explanation, as if -the brutal side of life were all that existed between man and woman. -If I had stayed, in spite of the second wife, I might have been of use -to him, for I had a good influence over him--and Allah might then have -given me a child.” She buried her face in her hands. “Allah! I am so -useless--so useless!” she moaned. - -The silence of the night alone answered her, and I, having no words to -comfort her grief, took one of her jasmine-scented hands and kissed it. - -Next morning my Lady of the Fountain had quite recovered her composure, -and even talked of her coming Paris escapade, but she was pale and worn -out, like a battered ship which has met with a storm. - -A few days later I came to bid her good-bye, for this time I was going -with my mother on a visit to the island. She put her arms around me as -if she did not wish to let me go. Wistfully she said: - -“When you are on the island, could you go to Nouri Pasha’s house?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then go and see the little boy. Kiss him, and bring me a kiss from -him. Will you?” - -On the day after my arrival on the island I went to the pines, where -all the children are taken, but the little fellow was not there. The -nurses of his sisters told me that his mother was worse, and wished him -kept in the garden so that she could see him from the window. - -Thereupon I went to Nouri Pasha’s house. The Bréton nurse in all her -finery was seated under an awning, the baby on her lap. I talked with -her awhile, and begged her to let me hold the baby, which she did. It -was a sweet baby, and strong. - -“Is his mother better?” I asked. - -“She will never be better, I fear.” - -Just then a bell rang out of a window above us, and the nurse got up -and took the baby from me, saying: - -“That is for me to bring him to his mother.” - -After she had gone I picked up a rattle the baby had dropped to give it -to some one. I could find no one about, and the idea came to me to keep -it and take it to my Lady of the Fountain. - -Two days later when I entered her apartment and presented it to her, -saying it was a present I had brought her from the island, she took it -and examined it with a puzzled expression. Being a European rattle she -did not know what it was. - -“What am I to do with it?” she asked. - -“To play with it,” and seeing her more puzzled still I explained to her -what it was, and how I had got it. - -She patted it affectionately. “Pretty little toy!” she murmured; -“pretty little toy! I believe it is warm yet from the baby touch.” - - * * * * * - -Our French lessons made great progress, and her preparations for Paris -were completed. The scheme for obtaining a passport worked without -a hitch, and word had come from the convent that the lady could be -accommodated. - -At last September was with us, and its coming that year was cold and -dreary. The tramontana blew daily, the flowers lost their colour and -perfume, and the grass turned pale. Already under the eaves one could -hear the bustling swallows, and on a particularly cold day news came, -somehow, that Nouri Pasha’s youngest wife was dead. - -My Lady of the Fountain wept as if the girl had been her only child; -and between her tears and sobs she kept saying: - -“She was only seventeen--and beloved--and the mother of a boy. And now -she is dead, leaving the little one motherless. How cruel! How cruel! -And yet Allah must be just.” - -After this event a great change came over her. She was not sad, since -it is forbidden Turkish women to continue their sadness for more than a -day or two; yet she was not herself. She was constantly thinking, and -her thoughts were not restful. I felt that she did not wish me, and -stayed away. - -Then she sent for me. I found her in her own room, writing, the floor -littered with torn paper. - -“Oh, _yavroum_!” she exclaimed, “I am trying to compose a letter, -but it does not come. I have never composed one before. How do you do -it?” - -“You simply say what you have to say.” - -“And if what you have to say is that for which your heart cries, how do -you say it?” - -“You say it in the words your heart uses.” - -She pondered my advice. - -“Yes, yes, you are right. Make no phrases. Just sit down, -_yavroum_.” She wrote feverishly, and in a few minutes gave a -sigh. “It is done!” - -She folded the paper and put it in her bosom. She was very nice to me, -but said nothing further of the letter, and refused to read any French. - -Leila came and played to her, and I went home without learning anything -more about it. As it was now the middle of September, and we were to -go in ten days, I had my own preparations to make, and did not see my -friend for a few days. - -It was again she who sent for me. I found her flushed and excited. She -took me in her arms and kissed me with unwonted tenderness. - -“You have not been here for so long, _yavroum_, and I have news -to tell you. Nouri Pasha will give me the little boy. The French woman -will be dismissed, and I shall bring him up like an Osmanli boy.” - -“Aren’t you going to Paris with me?” I cried. - -“Oh, no! no! I am going to stay here. Come into the house. Come and see -how ready we have made the rooms--ready for the young lion, who will be -here soon.” - -We went all over the house. It had been scrubbed and cleaned as if for -a bridegroom. Her own rooms had new curtains, new chintz covers, and -was beautifully scented. - -“He will live right here with me--see!” She pointed to a cradle placed -beside her bed. Her face flushed. With one hand she touched the cradle -timidly, with the other she pressed her heart, as if to keep it from -beating too fast. - -On the boy’s arrival, the house was wreathed and decorated. All the -flowers of the garden were made into garlands, and festooned outside -the house from window to window. The two slaves wore new gowns. - -Leila received me. “_Evvet, evvet, hanoum effendi_, the young -lion has come. He’s upstairs with his mother--and she is good to look -at.” - -I climbed the much beribboned stairs; for all the old brocades and rare -Anatolian shawls were draped over the banisters; and went to my Lady’s -room. I found her seated on a couch, all clad in white satin, holding -Nouri Pasha’s son fast in her arms. - -“Come! come! _yavroum_, come to see him. Isn’t he wonderful, and -isn’t Allah good to me?” - -“He is a nice baby; but because you have him you will not go to Paris -with me, and you will never, never see the world.” - -She gazed up at me as if we had never talked of Paris. “Oh, yes, -Paris,” she murmured dreamily. “That was for my selfish pleasure. -But now,” she continued with a thrill in her voice, “now I am doing -something for the world.” - -Her face shone with the light which must be lighted from the divine -spark within us, when the self is effaced. She looked more than ever -like the Lady of the Fountain--but a fountain unlocked, and giving to -the world from its abundant waters. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -CHAKENDÉ, THE SCORNED - - -It was dreary going away to Paris without my Lady of the Fountain, -especially since I had made up my mind to have her with me; but it was -a well-deserved punishment for attaching importance to the word of an -elder. - -The following two years were years of little to tell. They were filled -with studies and books, and books and studies. Black clouds were -already thickening on my young horizon, and I knew that sooner or later -I should have to encounter the storm. I had a thousand and one projects -for my life. Above all I wanted to become a doctor in order to minister -to the Turkish women, who at the time would rather die than see a man -doctor. I lived in that dream of wonderful usefulness which was to be -mine, and which was to save me from the martyrdom of the women of my -race. - -The usual fate of a Greek girl, who has to sit and wait until a -marriage is arranged for her, seemed to me the worst thing that could -befall me. And if the fate of the Greek girl with money was terrible, -what could I think of a girl like me, who had no dowry? - -It would mean a ceaseless plotting of all my female relatives to -capture a suitable _parti_. And a man would be a suitable -_parti_ if he had money and position, irrespective of any other -qualifications. - -For a long time I had secretly resolved to work and fit myself to lead -my own life, and be spared the humiliation of being delivered over by -my family to some man who would condescend to receive me without being -paid for it. Thus these two years in Paris were years of hard work and -application. I had moments of intense longing for Turkey and for my old -life, which I had to brush aside, and to keep on working. Now and then, -enclosed in my mother’s letters, came epistles from Djimlah and Nashan, -but I never heard from Chakendé. - -At the end of two years my mother sent for me again. Since I was now -sixteen years old, this did not presage well for me. I knew that, as a -penniless girl, I had to be disposed of as soon as possible. The older -I grew, the more difficult it would be for my female relatives to make -a match for me. - -This was the sword of Damocles hanging over me. It was not that I -was averse to being married. On the contrary, in my most adventurous -schemes I never saw myself an old maid. I had the inherent hatred of -the Greeks for that word. But I wanted to make my own marriage. - -I considered for some time, before returning to Constantinople. I -seriously contemplated disobeying the maternal summons and escaping -to America; for America always rose up in my dreams as the land of -salvation. Ultimately, I knew that I must go there, if I were to earn -my own living; but I decided to return to Constantinople. The longing -to see it again was strong upon me, and besides my brother happened -to be there at this time; and as long as he was there I hoped that I -should not be handed over, like bargain counter goods, to any man. - - “_Ashadnan na Mahomet Rasoul Allah! - Bismallah! - Allah-hu-akbar!_” - -These were the words chanted, from a minaret near by, in the shrill -sweet voice of a young _muezzin_, as I emerged from my compartment -of the Oriental Express, in Constantinople, two days later. - -My soul answered to this call of the East. I felt as if I should like -to throw myself on a prayer-rug, face Mecca, and cry with the young -_muezzin_, “Allah-hu-akbar!” - -I had left the West behind--I was again in the East, the enchanting, -poetical East. - -This feeling was strengthened when, on reaching my hotel, I found a -letter from my mother telling me not to come to our home on the island -that day, because it was Tuesday, as ill-omened a day with the Greeks -as Friday is with the rest of Europe. - -Indeed this was the East again--the East with its cry to Allah, and -its predominating superstitions. But I could not yet feel the proper -respect for ancestral superstitions. I had the arrogant self-confidence -of youth in full, and, as youth feels, I felt that the right lay with -my own inclinations. It was a hot and oppressive summer day in town, -and in disregard of maternal displeasure I decided to go on immediately -by the morning boat. - -In spite of the heat and of a strange feeling of oppression in the -atmosphere, I went on foot to the Bridge of Galata, in order that I -might revel again in the crooked streets of Constantinople, hear the -merchants cry out their wares, be followed by some of the stray dogs, -salute my old friend Ali Baba, the boatman, and thus assure myself that -I really was again in my beloved city on the Golden Horn. - -By the time I had bought my ticket for the steamer, Paris was as far -from my spirit as it was from my flesh--and the superstitions of my -mother no longer seemed unworthy of attention, even though I still -persisted in pleasing my selfish self. The idea of a happy compromise -suggested itself: I would take the boat to the island, but instead -of going home I would spend the day at my cousin’s, at the other end -of the island, and arrive home on the following day, as my mother had -requested. - -Thereupon, in pursuit of this comfortable arrangement, on entering the -boat, instead of making my way to the first class deck, where men and -Christian women sit together, I betook myself to one of those private -little rooms which exist on the Mahshousettes boats exclusively for the -convenience of aristocratic Turkish ladies. By secluding myself in one -of these I effectually avoided the risk of recognition and report. - -I opened the door of one. The cabin was in semi-obscurity, and occupied -by three veiled ladies. However, as the place could accommodate four, -I entered. It was their privilege to ask me to depart, if they did not -care for the company of an unbeliever. I sat down and waited to see if -they would use their prerogative. To my surprise a lithe young woman -rose hastily and stood before me. Her two slender and tightly gloved -hands grasped my shoulders, and a pair of fine eyes peered into mine. - -“Why, little Thunderstorm!” - -A _feredjé_ enveloped me and my lips came into close contact with -the filmly _yashmak_ of Chakendé of the Timur-Lang. It was indeed -delightful to fall in thus with her. We had before us an hour and a -half’s sail with no one to disturb us; for the other two women were -her attendants and sat without saying a word. We spent the time in the -happiest of talk about the years during which we had not seen each -other, and during which we had left behind our girlhood, and crossed -the threshold of womanhood; for in the East we become women at an early -age. - -After I had told her all about myself, at her insistence--she being the -elder, and I having therefore to tell my story first--I said: - -“You are married now, I suppose. I remember you were to belong to a -young man in Anatolia, to whom you were betrothed when you were an hour -old, while he boasted of the great age of seven.” - -She sighed. “No, I am not--not yet--although I am getting on in years.” - -“Why are you waiting?” I inquired. All my French manners and training -had gone. I was again delightfully Oriental, asking personal questions -in the most direct way, as I had answered all that had been put to me. - -“It is quite a story, and we are nearly there. Since you are not going -home, why not come to my house till to-morrow, where I can tell you all -about it?” - -“I cannot,” I answered. “I must go to my relatives, or there will be -too much rumpus, if I am discovered.” - -“Very well, then, drive with me first to my house; I will leave the -attendants there, tell my mother where I am going, and come with you. -In this way we shall have the whole afternoon together. My attendants -can call for me in the evening.” - -That is how it happened that on reaching the island I drove in a closed -carriage with three veiled ladies to the _haremlik_ of Djamal -Pasha, and afterwards, with only one, arrived at my cousin’s house. - -To my cousin I explained my plight and introduced Chakendé Hanoum. -There was no one at home except my cousin and her children. After -luncheon Chakendé and I went into the guest-room, where we made -ourselves comfortable in loose garments. She braided her long, thick -hair in two braids, and put a string of pearls, like a ribbon, over -her head. She had clad her slim, young figure in a loose, white -_pembezar_, made quite in French fashion. Cut a little low at the -neck, it displayed, besides another string of pearls, a throat full and -white, beautiful in shape and in its youthful freshness. She was so -good to look upon that I again bethought me of the man for whom she had -been destined. - -“Now tell me why you are not married,” I said. - -She laughed, and sighed again. - -“Because he will not have me.” - -“He, who?” I queried. - -“The man I was engaged to when I was a baby.” - -“Upon my word!” I cried with indignation. - -“Now, Thunderstorm, you need not go ahead and blame him. His reasons -are excellent, as his face is kind and his figure straight--like a -cypress tree.” - -“You have seen him then?” - -“Yes, he has been in Constantinople for the past two years, and I have -seen him several times through the lattices of my window.” - -“And he refuses to marry you?” - -“He does.” - -“On the ground----” - -“That he does not know me. You see, he is tainted with European -culture, and he thinks a man ought to choose his own wife. I was chosen -for him: therefore he does not wish to marry me.” - -“Why don’t you give him up and marry some one else? There are plenty -who would be glad to have you.” - -She shook her head. “It so happens that I want him and no one else. And -what is more,” she added illogically, “I respect his reasons. He says -that he does not wish to be married to a woman he has not seen, and of -whose character he knows nothing.” - -“Very well,” I remarked. “Since you respect his reasons, and since you -are modern enough yourself, why don’t you try to meet him unveiled -somewhere and have a chat with him?” - -Dubiously she shook her head again. “I don’t know how to manage it. He -does not go to the Christian houses to which I go. Besides none of my -Greek friends would care to take the risk of arranging a meeting.” - -“I’ll do it,” I declared. - -Her face flushed with pleasure. “You are just the same madcap as ever. -Paris hasn’t robbed you of any of your spirit. How often I have wished -you were here--only I did not know whether you had become so wise that -you would not do foolish things any more.” - -For some time we discussed the matter, though without arriving at any -feasible plan. At length I left her, radiantly cheerful, and went into -the nursery to lie down, in order to leave the guest-room entirely to -her. My little cousins, three in number, were already on their beds, -and I stretched myself out on the divan. - -Instead of being cooler on the island, the oppression of the atmosphere -was more intense. There seemed something ominous in the heavy stillness -of the air, only broken by the noise of the yelling dogs in the -distance. - -I was just beginning to dose off, when my couch swung to and fro like a -hammock. - -My little eight year old cousin raised her head from her bed and stared -at me across the room. - -“Alkmeny!” I said crossly, “don’t shake your bed, child. It shakes the -room most unpleasantly.” - -“I thought it was _you_ shaking the room,” the child replied. - -Then it occurred to me that it would take a giant to shake the huge -room. It was the second story of a rock house, with two foot thick -walls. - -The room shook again, so violently that I bit the end of my tongue, -and for the moment thought of nothing except the pain of it. Then it -grew dark, like dusk, and there was a noise as if hundreds of baskets -of walnuts were being poured down the staircase. In the thick stone -walls cracks a foot wide appeared; the edges trembled, as if uncertain -whether to fall inside or out, and with a crash came together again. - -The children were thrown out of their beds, and I gazed at them -passively. At this instant did some past incarnation of mine say the -word “earthquake!” or was the word really called by some one outside? -All I know is that “_seismos!_” rang in my ears, and with it -everything I had ever heard about earthquakes flashed into my mind. -“Don’t walk--crawl!” was the first thing, and obeying it I dropped to -the floor, caught up the youngest child in my arms, and told the other -two to cling to my gown. Then in a sitting position I worked my way out -of the room and down the stairs. - -The floor was waving up and down, but we managed to get down the short -flight of steps. The noise meanwhile was deafening, and the darkness in -the house complete. When we reached the front door and were about to go -out, one of the maids pushed me violently aside and dashed out herself. -A part of the falling chimney struck her on the head, and she fell to -the ground, quite dead. I climbed over her body, still crawling, with -the child in my arms. My white _négligé_ was covered with the -maid’s blood, but this did not affect me at the time in the least. I -crawled on and on, while the terrific noises and the shaking continued, -always remembering that the safest place was the middle of the lawn--as -far from the house as possible. The children were holding tightly to my -dressing-gown, and they, too, were covered with the dead woman’s blood. - -As we were scuttling along the ground, little four year old Chrysoula -cried out: “Cousin, my foot is caught!” One of the cracks in the -earth--which was opening and shutting--had her little foot imprisoned; -but in a second it opened again and her foot was free. - -Fortunately, the house was surrounded by a large open lawn, otherwise -we might have been killed by the falling trees. In the middle of the -lawn we lay still, fascinated and bewildered. It was lighter out here -in the open, so that we could see what was taking place. I was not -consciously afraid. A kind of exaltation possessed me that I should be -there to see the wonderful, ghastly spectacle. - -The Turks say that during an earthquake devils with fiery eyes fly -about the sky. And surely we saw them, only they must have been huge -stones, hurled into the air, which clashed together, giving forth -sparks that, for the fraction of a second, illumined their dark petrine -bodies. One of those devils fell with a crash on the stable. It went -through the roof, and in a few minutes the entire building was ablaze. - -After this the earthquake proper ceased, but the earth still trembled, -so that the oldest child fell over on my lap two or three times; and -Chrysoula, who was sitting comically tilted back with her feet in -the air--her one thought being to keep them from catching again in -the earth-cracks--would tip over, and then scramble back into her -undignified position. - -From the stable, now burning like a bonfire, a horse dashed madly out. -He was making directly for us when he fell, and lay where he fell. He -had stepped into an earth-crack and broken his leg, and had to be shot -afterwards. - -Meanwhile the noises gradually lessened; but the air was filling with -smoke and the smell of the fires. My cousin’s house still stood, -apparently unhurt, except for the chimneys; but what a devastation -there was of those around us! They were mostly modern with new -anti-seismic devices, such as iron bands around them. All these were -lying in ruins, the irons twisted and warped, the walls shapeless heaps -of stones, beneath which were buried many of those who had loved them -and called them home. The old-fashioned houses, without the irons, -withstood the shocks better. When afterwards I went into my cousin’s -house, I found that most of the furniture was broken, the plastering -had all fallen, the pictures were down, and the cracks in the walls had -not come together smoothly. - -During the earthquake we saw no one, except the maid that had been -killed. After an interval Chakendé, whom I had entirely forgotten, came -out of the house, her left arm bandaged and in a sling. - -“I am hurt,” she said quietly, sitting down beside me; “but I have -bandaged it up and it is all right. I am troubled, though, about my -people, and it will be some time before it will be possible for me to -go to them, I suppose.” - -Her manner was subdued, her face white, her eyes still frightened. - -What seemed a very long time passed before the people began to come out -of the ruins of the houses. My cousin appeared, crying hysterically. On -seeing her children she stopped crying. “My God!” she screamed, “I have -children!” She had totally forgotten about them. - -A few hours later my cousin’s husband arrived from Constantinople. The -boats, fortunately, had not been injured and were all running. He was -an official and brought out with him three young men, his subordinates, -two Greeks and a Turk. They told us that the damage in the town was -even worse than on the islands, so that we could expect to receive no -tents from the government that night. - -The heat of the day had changed to cold, which, in our nervous -condition, we felt severely, and the two Greeks set about building a -fire and preparing something for us to eat. - -Chakendé went up to the young Turk and spoke to him; then she came to -me. - -“This young man is going to help me bury the maid,” she said. Both to -me and to the Turk she spoke in French, but it was not a day to think -of such trifles. “We have already carried her into the laundry-house, -and now we are going to dig a grave.” - -Chakendé and the Turk went off to bury the Christian maid. It was -an odd fact that during this whole earthquake, while all other -nationalities were thinking of the living, it was the Turks mostly who -thought of the dead. - -When they came back to me, who still had the care of the children, for -both my cousin and the maids were too hysterical to attend to them, -Chakendé said: - -“We are thinking that if we can get several rugs we can put up some -kind of tents for the children and the rest of us to sleep under.” - -“It is Mademoiselle who thought of that,” the young Turk said with -admiration, and I realized then, that he was far from guessing that she -was a Mussulman girl; for Chakendé, having nothing to cover her face -with, went about like a European. - -“That’s a good idea,” I assented, “but who is going to get the rugs? It -will be difficult to make anyone go into the house.” - -“I will go,” Chakendé said. - -“Oh, no, mademoiselle!” the Turk protested. “This is a man’s work, not -a woman’s. It is a dangerous task, and besides rugs are heavy.” - -She smiled. “But I shall go too. Come, monsieur, don’t lose any time. -The earth is quiet for the present.” - -They left me, and on their return he was carrying a heavy pile of rugs, -while Chakendé had all the sheets and pillows she could manage with her -uninjured arm. The two of them proved remarkable tent-makers. One could -see that they came of a race which for centuries had lived in tents. -Not only did they put up one for my cousin’s family, but a little one -for Chakendé and myself. They disappeared again, and returned with -blankets. They made several trips into the house, until they had us -all fully supplied with bedding. - -For one reared amid the seclusion of a harem she really was wonderful. -Her presence of mind, her fearlessness, and her resourcefulness -astonished me, engrossed though I was. - -After we had had something to eat, and put the children to bed, -Chakendé, the young Turk and I went and sat down at a little -distance, and talked over the events of the day. None of us had any -desire for sleep, although it was late. The earth was still groaning -occasionally, and it was unpleasant to lie down, since one could hear -hideous rumblings and tremblings which gave one a curious feeling of -sea-sickness. - -“What a day!” Chakendé exclaimed, after a long silence. There was a -certain exhilaration both in the voice and in the manner of the girl. -She seemed detached from the awfulness of it all, in spite of the -bloody wrappings on her arm. - -The Turk hardly took his eyes from her and there was no mistaking -his condition. He had met the woman he was to remember till he died, -whether he ever saw her again or not. - -Chakendé did not look in his direction. She sat erect, her head held -proudly above her lovely throat. She was even prettier than she had -been in the daytime. - -Presently the young man spoke, addressing himself to her: - -“Mademoiselle, we have worked together to-day, as companions--as -friends. I should like you to give me something to keep for the rest of -my life.” - -“Monsieur only asks,” she replied, without looking at him, “he does not -offer to give anything to be remembered by.” - -It was a weird night, one of those nights when people cannot be -conventional. In my place I made myself very small, trying to forget I -was present, as the two seemed to forget me. - -“I, mademoiselle?” repeated the man, in a voice full of emotion. “I -have given you to-day all that is best in me. And whatever my life may -become that best will always belong to you.” - -“And in exchange, Monsieur asks?” Chakendé said, still not turning -toward him. - -“I only ask your name, mademoiselle. I should like to repeat it -daily--to have it be the nectar of my soul.” - -“Since Monsieur asks so little, it would be cruel to deny him.” - -She turned slowly around till her eyes met his. Distinctly she said: - -“My name is Chakendé, and I am known as the only daughter of Djamal -Pasha.” - -The young man gave a start. “You are--? You are----?” - -She nodded. “The woman you have scorned for the past two years.” She -turned away, and gazed out into the darkness. In a minute she rose. -“Come, Thunderstorm,” she said to me, “I think we might as well go to -our tent.” - -The young Turk rose, too, and barred her way respectfully. - -“Hanoum Effendi,” he said, speaking in Turkish now, “I love you--will -you be my wife?” - -“Does the effendi think it would be so great an honour?” she asked, -with a little catch in her voice. - -“It would be an honour for me; it would give me the privilege of -worshipping you, of protecting you, of taking away all thorns from your -path, and of strewing it with roses. I ask to be allowed to be your -servant, as you are the mistress of my soul.” - -“The effendi speaks very beautifully,” she commented. - -“I love you!” he cried. “I love you!” - -She gave him her right hand, and he, bending as a worshipper, touched -it with his lips; then as a man he drew her to him, and covered her -hair and her eyes and her lips with his kisses. - -When Chakendé and I retreated to the little tent arranged for us, the -young Turk lay down on the ground outside, across the doorway. Chakendé -on her rug prayed to Allah, her uninjured arm upstretched with the palm -toward heaven. After she had finished she turned to me. - -“Dear little Thunderstorm,” she said, “it has been a horrible day, a -devastating day, a life-taking day, but ah!--to me it has been the most -wonderful day of my life.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A GREAT LADY OF STAMBOUL - - -The earthquake subsided, and little by little people began to forget -its terrors. Some who had old-fashioned houses plucked up courage to -enter them, then to abandon their tents and stay in them. One day some -young people laughed, and others echoed their laughter. Gradually the -older people began to laugh, too; and the terrible shock which had -killed so many thousands and unnerved so many more began to lose its -hold upon the imagination of the people. - -Before the month was over life became normal, and we talked of -ordinary, everyday things. One day as I was sitting by my mother, -making lace, she casually remarked: - -“Nashan is going to be married, you know.” - -Of all my Turkish friends Nashan was the one my mother liked best. -Perhaps this was because she felt she had a share in her bringing up, -since the day on which she had been summoned by Nashan’s mother to pass -judgment on the little girl’s clothes--the little girl whose raiment I -had compared to that of a _saltimbanque_, when she had thought -that she was dressed like a great lady. - -“Oh, is she?” I cried, a trifle hurt. “She has not even written to me -that she is engaged. I am afraid she cannot care for her marriage.” - -I hastened to call on her. She received me in her French boudoir, -faultlessly dressed in a Parisian gown, her hair done in the fashion -prevalent in Europe at the time. We were so glad to see each other that -at first we forgot about the marriage. Finally I asked about it. - -Boundless became her indignation. “He is an Asiatic!” she cried, with -undisguised horror. “They are giving me to a man who cannot understand -a word of French, to a man who is an _arriéré_--who believes in -the subjection of women! They are handing me over to an unknown, who -has not touched my heart--merely because our fathers decided that -we should become husband and wife. And this Anatolian--this man who -has lived all his life in an uncivilized country--has come to claim -me--_me_, as his wife.” - -Since her indignation could rise no higher, it toppled over in a -torrent of tears. She laid her blonde head in my lap, and wept. And I -wept with her, because she was eighteen and I was sixteen, and life -seemed so full of tragedy. How dreadful the world looked to us in that -hour--and how we hated our elders. - -She had lost her mother, her only support, as, long ago, I had lost -my father. We had an orgy of tears, which cleared the atmosphere, and -helped the barometer to rise. The courage of youth returned to us. - -“What do you intend to do?” I asked. - -“I thought of dying,” she said simply, but “I don’t want to. I hate to -die. Life is so interesting, and I am so healthy.” Inconsequently she -added: “Come and see my trousseau.” - -No French girl could have had a Frenchier one. No Parisian a more -Parisian one. If the father was imposing an Anatolian husband upon her, -he was generous in his supply of European accessories. She and I forgot -our troubles in admiring and gloating over the creations just arrived -from Paris. - -“And now look!” she cried, in a tone of loathing. She opened a closet -and drew forth a chest, richly inlaid. From its heart she took several -garments: they were Anatolian--even more Oriental than if they had -been Turkish. She threw them on the floor, and stamped upon them. “His -grandmother is insulting me with these. She thinks _that_ is the -way _I_ dress--I, a European to my finger-tips.” - -I picked up the despised garments and examined them with curiosity -mingled with admiration. The straight, stiff tunics of home-spun silks, -the jackets reaching below the knees, spun by hand and fantastically -embroidered in a riot of colour were full of oriental poetry. - -“But they are truly lovely,” I cried. “They’re better than your French -clothes. Any woman would look adorable in them. I wish you would wear -them.” - -Nashan only snatched them from my hands and stamped on them again. - -As the date of her marriage drew near, I heard that there were scenes -of rebellion and tears of helplessness, but her father held fast to -his purpose, and the marriage took place. I did not go to it. I was -engrossed with my own troubles at the time, and besides I did not wish -to be present at what I considered the immolation of a woman. - -Two days after the wedding, a note reached me from her saying: “Will -you come and spend the day with me?” - -I went to her new home in Stamboul--fortunately free from his relatives -since these all lived in Anatolia. She was seated in a vast, bare, -oriental room which contrasted strangely with her French gown and -Parisian coiffure. There were no traces of tears on her face such as I -had expected to find; her pupils only seemed larger, and her eyes were -shining with a combativeness which I had felt was in her, but which I -had not encountered before. - -Silently we embraced each other. - -“Is he dreadful?” I whispered. - -“I don’t even know how he looks,” she replied. “I have not favoured him -with a glance. He has not been able to make me speak to him, and you -know that according to our laws, so long as I remain silent, he has no -rights over me.” - -“Do you mean to keep it up till he becomes discouraged and divorces -you?” - -Before she had time to answer, one of her slaves came in. - -“The _tchelebi_ [master] is asking if he may see you.” - -I rose to leave the room. - -“Don’t go,” she begged. - -I sat down, a very uncomfortable little person. Nashan crossed her -slender hands on her lap and waited. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the -floor; her lips compressed, as for eternal silence. - -He came in. I do not know why I expected to see a grown-up man, with -man’s tyrannical power stamped on his brutal features. What entered -was a boy, a timid moustache sprouting on his lip. He was tall and -good-looking, but almost paralysed with shyness. - -He looked at nothing except his wife, and his face shone with all the -love he felt for her, with all the dreams he must have made about this -one woman, whom he had never seen till the day of his wedding. - -We are apt to think only of the woman’s side, and few of us ever give -a thought to what may be the man’s disappointment, the man’s crushed -ideals in his marriage. Because he bears it like a man, because he -makes the best of what fate has allotted him, often without a word of -complaint, we think that the tragedy of marriage is entirely one-sided. - -That day, as the young fellow came in, shy and awkward, carrying a -small bundle in his hand, prejudiced though I was against him, I -somehow felt that there was his side, too. Perhaps it was his extreme -youth, his good looks, which touched me; or perhaps it was the -expression of misery on his face. Poets and writers have written about -the woman’s heart-break, but it is the sorrow of the strong which -contains the most pathos. - -He timidly took his seat at a distance from her, and fingered the -little parcel on his knee. - -An oppressive silence fell upon us, I furtively watching the youth, he -longingly gazing at his bride. Finally he began to undo his parcel, and -his movements were so like those of a little boy that I was ready to -weep for him. - -The parcel disclosed a beautifully embroidered pair of Turkish -slippers. I suppose they were the prettiest he could buy, but even at a -glance I knew that they were far too large for Nashan. - -He rose and advanced timidly, his offering in his hand. - -“I brought you these,” he said pleadingly. He looked at the slippers -and then at her. “They were so lovely I could not help buying them for -you.” - -He sat down on the floor at her feet, and tried to bring the slippers -within her notice. - -“Let me put them on your pretty feet,” he begged. - -She neither replied, nor by the slightest movement betrayed that -she was aware of his existence. She was sitting on a chair, like a -European. Her knees were crossed, and one foot dangled before him, as -if inviting the new slippers. - -By a tremendous effort he summoned up courage to slip the Turkish -slipper on her foot, over the French shoe, and even then it was too -large. It hung suspended for a minute from her unresponsive toe, and -fell to the floor. - -I laughed more from nervousness than from mirth. - -He turned a troubled, inquiring countenance toward me, and then back to -his wife. - -“Why is she mocking me? Have I done anything ridiculous?” - -He appeared more than ever like a frightened little boy. He leaned -toward her as if he wished to hide behind her skirt, every movement -seeming to beg for protection. - -The stony expression left Nashan’s face. She no longer ignored his -existence. What was fine, womanly, maternal in her character became -alive. - -She put her arm round his shoulder. - -“Why are you laughing?” she demanded quietly of me in French. “If he -were a Christian dog he would have known many women, and he would be -aware of the sizes of their feet. But he is only a clean Osmanli boy, -and, as you see, I am the first woman he has ever seen, besides his -mother.” - -It was a new Nashan: not the europeanized Nashan, with her foreign -veneer, but a real woman, the one who had once said to me: “I am sure -of the existence of Allah, because he manifests himself so quickly in -me.” Unmistakably at that moment God was manifesting Himself in her. - -I rose to go. She rose, too, and so did the man, who had picked up his -slippers and held them fast to his heart. He had not understood a word -of the French that had passed between us. - -“I bought you these because I thought maybe you would like them,” he -repeated. - -“I like them very much indeed,” she said, taking them from him. - -“They are not so pretty, perhaps, as the ones you have on; but they are -exactly like those my dead mother used to wear, when I was a little boy -and played on her lap.” - -She listened to him attentively, deferentially, her eyes raised to his. -Then she turned to me, who was already going. - -“Don’t go just yet, dear. I beg of you to remain a few minutes.” To her -husband: “My lord, will you make my friend feel at home, while I am -gone a little while? I have just been hard to her, because she was rude -to you; but I do not think she meant to be.” - -Nashan was gone from the room only a short time, yet I hardly -recognized her on her return. She was dressed in one of the oriental -gowns his grandmother had sent her, and which she had despised and -trampled upon. Her French coiffure had disappeared. A Turkish veil was -arranged on her head, in the strict oriental fashion for indoors, and -on her feet, somehow, she had fastened his slippers. - -She bowed low before her husband. - -“These, my master, are the garments your honourable grandmother sent -me. I hope you like me in them.” - -He could not speak, nor was there any need; for his face was a -worshipful prayer. - -She turned to me with a proud little toss of her head. - -“Am I a great lady?” she asked as of old, with whimsical seriousness, -“or am I a _saltimbanque_?” - -“You are indeed a great lady,” I said--and I meant it. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE INVENTIVENESS OF SEMMEYA HANOUM - - -It was from curiosity rather than from friendship that I accepted -Semmeya Hanoum’s pressing invitation to spend a few days with her, -shortly after Nashan’s wedding. As I said in a previous chapter, we -had never looked on Semmeya as one of us. We did not trust her, and -where there is no trust how can there be friendship? Still, since I -was burning to know what sort of a wife she had made, I replied to her -pressing invitation with alacrity. - -I did not have to wait very long before I knew that Semmeya Hanoum was -the same as ever--that she would rather cheat than play fair. She was -the mother of a dear, little boy; and it was easy to see that Sendi Bey -was the slave of his wife. At the same time it required no cleverness -on my part to discover that he did not trust her, and did not believe -her word. - -I have always wondered, and I suppose that I shall continue to wonder -till I die, and learn the explanation of many riddles, how it is that a -good, upright man can remain in love with a woman whom he cannot trust. -On the contrary, it often seems as if the less confidence a man has in -his wife, the more in love he remains with her. - -On the second morning of my arrival, nature outside was making -herself beautiful as if to pose for her portrait. We had finished our -breakfast, and were sitting on a couch together when her husband came -in, a dark cloud on his forehead. He gave his wife a severe look, which -Semmeya met with the candour of an angel. - -“I am delighted to see you so early, my Bey Effendi,” she said sweetly. -“I hope you have slept well,” and as he remained standing, she -continued: “Won’t you sit down by us, my Effendi?” - -“Beauty!” thundered the man, “why did you misbehave yesterday afternoon -while you were out driving?” - -An expression of utter amazement overspread her features. - -“Don’t trouble yourself to deny it--you know that it is true,” the -husband continued, striving to master his anger. - -She shrugged her slim shoulders, and the impertinent movement was -attractive. Intrinsically she was not a beautiful woman, but she had -charm, and the man speaking to her was in love with her. And she knew -it. - -“You know you did it,” he persisted. - -Impatiently she tapped the floor with her satin-clad foot. I hate to -witness marital disagreements, so I rose to go; but Semmeya caught my -dress and imperiously pulled me back into my seat. - -“Beauty,” the man reiterated, with rising anger, “you know you did it.” - -She continued to look out of the latticed window, down on the waters of -the Golden Horn. Her profile was turned to her husband. This was the -prettiest view of her, and the one she always presented to him when -she wished to dominate him--she told me so herself. Her wavy hair was -loosely combed back on her neck, and a red rose was carelessly placed -a little below her pretty ear. She was dressed in a soft green silk -garment, the diaphanous sleeves displaying her well-shaped arms. Her -slim but well-rounded neck was bare, and one could see that she was in -a temper by the way the veins stood out on her throat. - -“You did it, Beauty,” the man persisted in an even monotone that -sounded like the approach of the storm. - -I rose for the second time to go, but the hand, more imperious than -before, pulled me down again; then the owner of the hand snapped out: - -“Since you believe the word of the eunuch against mine, and you are -so certain I did it, why do you wish me to verify it? Begone, man, -begone!” - -“But I want you to tell me why you threw the flowers at the -Englishman,” her husband demanded. He turned to me and asked, “Do you -think it is nice for a woman to throw flowers at a strange man?” - -Before I could reply, she calmly said, “It is not true.” - -“That you threw flowers at a man?” - -She nodded. - -“Did she or did she not?” he asked me. - -“She did,” I answered. - -“You wretch!” Semmeya Hanoum cried. “I only threw a rose, and a rose is -singular, not plural. Besides, how do you know that I threw it at the -man? I might have just thrown it away--and it might have happened to -strike his face by accident.” - -“I suppose you happened to kiss the rose by accident, too?” Sendi Bey -inquired grimly. - -“Why not? I often kiss roses.” She looked at him with laughing -defiance. “And now what will you do, my lord?” - -“I should like to give you a good thrashing.” - -“You can’t. It is forbidden by the Koran.” - -“I know it, and I am very sorry. But, Beauty, your actions are getting -unbearable; and I am going to put a stop to them. For a month you are -not to leave this house without my permission.” With these words he -marched out of the room. - -She turned to me. “I should like to find out whether he will really -give orders that I am not to leave the house. Make ready to go out, and -we shall see.” - -She was waiting for me with a slave when I came to her room, and -together we went down the hall. There stood the eunuch with his back to -the door, looking determined to die at his post, if necessary. - -“Silly, come with us. We are going out for a walk,” Semmeya said -casually. - -He salaamed to the floor, but did not stir. She spoke to him more -sharply, and again he salaamed. No matter what she said, he salaamed. - -Ignominiously at last she retreated to her room. She sat down and -pondered over the situation earnestly. For once, I thought, she would -have to acknowledge herself beaten. - -At length she sprang to her feet, and I looked up expectantly, but she -only told me to take off my wraps, since we should be unable to go out. -She stepped out of the room, and I heard her whispering to her slave -outside. Presently she re-entered the room briskly. - -“When the eunuch comes up, tell him to wait a minute, if I am not here. -And meanwhile make yourself as comfortable as you can.” - -I took a French novel from the table, became interested in it, and had -quite forgotten our state of siege when the eunuch spoke to me. - -“Wait a minute.” I answered, hardly hearing what he said. “Semmeya -Hanoum will be back in a minute.” - -He took up his station in the doorway, commanding both the room and -the hall, and waited, listening intently. After a long while he went -downstairs. - -Again I was absorbed in my book when the eunuch returned, panting and -frightened. - -“My mistress! My mistress!” he shouted. - -“What is it, stupid? What has happened to your mistress?” - -“She has gone!” - -“Gone where?” - -“Away! Out of the house!” he wailed. “She has outwitted both of -us--myself and Yussuf at the gate of the garden. He was called away for -a minute, and when he came back, my mistress had disappeared. Ai! ai! -it was magic.” - -“Well, don’t stand there wailing; run and tell your master,” I said -impatiently. - -He looked at me in abject terror. “My master! I dare not. He would kill -me.” - -“Then send for him, and I will tell him.” - -“And you will tell him that I faithfully obeyed his orders,” he -implored, “and that she did not escape through any negligence on my -part?” - -Even after I had reassured him on these points he departed trembling, -and I went down to the parlour to await Sendi Bey. In a few minutes he -came, and I told him what had happened. He cross-examined me, became -convinced that I knew nothing of his wife’s movements, and sent for the -unhappy man at the gate, Yussuf. - -“Why did you not run after your mistress?” he demanded sternly. - -“I did, your Excellency, but she was nowhere to be seen. There was not -a house where she could have entered, or a place where she could have -hidden; but she was not in sight. I do not see how she could have run -so fast. It is magic!” - -Sendi Bey dismissed the man, then called the slaves and the eunuch, and -ordered them to search the house, which they did without result. Then -he gave orders that no one was to enter or leave the house without his -permission, and that when the mistress returned she was to wait at the -gate till he had spoken to her. - -After we were alone together again, he exclaimed gleefully: “For once -she has put herself in my power. On her return I shall go to the gate -and make my conditions, and if she does not agree to them, she cannot -come in.” - -“But suppose she does not agree to them, and prefers not to come in?” I -asked. - -He laughed. “For once,” he repeated, “she has put herself in my power. -If she does not agree, she will lose all her rights over her boy, -since she left the house against my orders. She loves the boy, and she -will agree. Now is the time to put an end to her coquettishness.” - -Whatever satisfaction Sendi Bey and the absent, rebellious Semmeya -Hanoum might find in the situation, for me it was rather uncomfortable. -I was not able to go even into the garden, and ate a solitary luncheon -and then dinner, all the slaves being at their posts to prevent any -entry or egress. After finishing my novel, I was just preparing to go -to bed when a slave came to me. - -“My master would like to see you downstairs if you will be so good,” -she said. - -There was no one in the parlour when I arrived there, but presently the -master came in from the _selamlik_. - -“What can I do for you?” he asked. - -“Why, nothing,” I replied. “I am perfectly comfortable, although the -situation is not.” - -He looked at me with a puzzled air. - -“Why did you send for me?” - -“I didn’t. I was told that you wished to see me.” - -“There must be some mistake,” he said, and pulled the velvet rope of -the bell. As if in answer to the ring, in sauntered Semmeya Hanoum, as -cool as a cucumber, cigarette in hand, and apparently just back from -her expedition, since she was still in outdoor dress. - -We both stared at her in amazement. - -“Hullo, Blossom,” she said to me. “Sorry to have left you alone all -day.” - -She elaborately ignored her husband. After an instant’s stupefaction he -strode across the room, took her chin in his hand, and lifted her face. - -“Where have you been?” he demanded. - -She snatched her head away from his hand, and dropped him an -extravagant French curtsy. “Where I pleased, my master.” - -The man was shaking with anger. - -“How did you get in?” - -She waved her gloved hand towards the hall. “Ring the bell--call in -your servants--find out.” - -“To make a bigger fool of myself?” - -“Why not, since you were willing to belittle me before them, by your -silly orders this morning? You told the eunuch not to let me go out, -and when I returned, I had to use a ruse to enter my own home, where -my baby boy is. You are a brute and a jealous fiend, and I am the most -unhappy of wives,” and thereupon she burst into the most pathetic -sobbing, and threw herself upon me, holding me fast to her. - -“Why, Beauty,” he expostulated in tender tones, “you know I have never -been unkind to you, and this is the first time I have even thought of -punishing you.” - -She continued to sob without abatement. He came near us, and timidly -tried to take her in his arms. To my surprise she went to him like a -lamb, kissing him and crying, and I slipped out of the room, once more -convinced that men were mere babes in the hands of designing women. - -That night I waited in vain for her to come and tell me where she had -been, and while waiting I fell asleep. After breakfast the next morning -she came to my room, beaming, and looking prettier than ever. - -“Siege is raised,” she cried, sitting down cross-legged on the rug. -“Blossom of the almond-tree, we can go for a picnic to any cemetery we -like, and I am to have a pair of horses all my own, and the loveliest -low victoria that France can manufacture.” She put her finger-tips -together, and looked up at me enjoying the effect of her words, and -continued: “I am also going to have a bigger allowance, and when I have -a little girl, I may give her a French name. In exchange, I shall not -throw kissed roses to anyone, and I am not going to fib for a long, -long time.” - -She swayed forward till her forehead touched the floor, and giggled so -delightedly that I had to join her. - -“The poor dear!” she went on, after her laughter had subsided. “If I -told him the truth for a week, he would cease to find me interesting. I -should be a tame creature--not the woman he is in love with. Oh, dear! -all men are alike.” - -“You don’t know so very many men.” I suggested. - -“Not actually, Blossom mine, not actually; but a woman retains the -knowledge of her previous existences far better than a man. That is -what her intuition is. I have been a wife for thousands of years. Think -of the husbands I have had! I know all about men. Why, sometimes I can -write down Sendi’s words before they leave his lips; and, as for his -actions, I know them before he even conceives them.” - -“But what I want to know is how you got out of the house yesterday, and -then how you got in again.” - -She looked at me with amused pity. - -“Blossom, you are just about as stupid as a man--just about. I never -left the house; I couldn’t.” - -I stared. “But they searched high and low----” - -“Not very low, my dear, not very low; for if they had, they would have -found us down in the cistern, in the baskets we keep the things cool -in. We almost touched the water--and we were cool, I can tell you.” And -she went into peals of infectious laughter that carried me along with -her. - -“Did you tell him?” I asked when our amusement had subsided. - -“Oh, what a goose you are, dear! Of course I did not. He will have -that riddle in the depths of his heart to torment him--until I give him -a fresh one.” - -I attempted to lecture her, but she closed my lips with a kiss and -adjured me not to be a simpleton until nature turned me into a man. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE CHIVALRY OF ARIF BEY - - -Up to now I have only spoken of the women of Turkey, because such are -the conditions there that men and women do not mingle freely. - -By the Western world Turkish men are held in low estimation: it may be -with reason, and it may be merely out of ignorance. One of the episodes -of my life deals with a Turkish man, the Arif Bey who used to come to -our house as my brother’s friend, when I was a little girl, and who for -awhile got mixed in my head with the Greek demi-gods. I had not seen -him for years. Once I had asked my brother about him. He had only told -me that he was now a pasha, and then changed the conversation. - -My brother and I were invited to spend a week in Constantinople with -some friends, the Kallerghis. Our host was a charming, dashing man of -over forty, one of the few remaining members of a formerly rich and -powerful Greek family. He was a Turkish official, and the only support -of a bedridden mother, to whom he was so devoted that on her account he -remained a bachelor. - -He was very fond of talking, perhaps because he told a story so well, -or perhaps because, being of an adventurous disposition, he had been -in many a scrape. One night, he told us of his experience when, in -disguise, he had managed to penetrate into the _tekhe_ of the -dervishes of Stamboul and witness one of their secret ceremonies. It -was one to which the most orthodox Mussulmans alone were admitted, -and a Christian took his life in his hand if he tried to be present. -He described the ceremony as something weird but not unpleasant, as -something worth seeing. - -There are people in the world who add splendour to whatever they -describe, a splendour which is in their hearts and minds and not in the -seen thing. Such a man was Damon Kallerghis. - -In the silence that followed his words, the tapping of the hour by -the _bektchi_, on his nightly rounds, came to us from sleeping -Constantinople outside. - -“And how often do the ceremonies occur?” I asked, breathless with the -interest he had aroused. - -“Twice a year. The next one will be in six weeks.” - -That night I could not sleep for the haunting remembrance of the -uncanny wonders to which I had listened. I did not even go to bed. -Sitting by the window I looked at the white minarets, faintly gleaming -against the dark blue oriental sky. Yonder was Stamboul with its -mysteries and its charm. Which of all those graceful peaks reared -itself above the mosque of the dervishes? My desire to see that of -which I had heard grew ever stronger as the hours passed, until I could -stay quiet no longer. - -My brother’s room was next to mine. To it I went, and with the -unscrupulous cruelty of my age, I woke him. - -He jumped up, rubbing his eyes. “What is it, child? Are you ill?” - -“No,” I said, settling myself on the foot of his bed. “Brother, I want -to go to the dervishes’ dance next month.” - -“Upon my word!” he exclaimed. “Go back to bed at once, or I shall think -you have gone crazy.” - -“Brother, you have got to say that you are going to take me there.” - -My brother was thoroughly awake by this time. He looked at me with a -kind of despair. - -“But didn’t you hear how dangerous it was--even for Damon Kallerghis? -As for your going, you might as well prance off to prison at once.” - -“I don’t mind going to prison, if I can see the dervishes first,” I -persisted. - -My brother, as I have said, was fourteen years older than I. He -had been my playfellow and my instructor, and was now my guardian. -Unfortunately, he was neither stern with me nor prudent himself. I -knew that I could make him grant me this wish if I only stuck to it -long enough; and when I returned to my room, an hour later, I went to -sleep delighted with the thought of the extracted promise. - -The next six weeks passed slowly, although we were busy with a number -of preparations. We had, of course, to be provided with Turkish -clothes, correct in every particular; and since, according to Osmanli -custom, a lady never goes abroad alone, at least two other women, on -whose courage and discretion we could count, had to be enlisted. It was -not difficult to find men to accompany us. Any enterprise, the aim of -which was to outwit the Turks, could not but appeal to Greeks. The two -young men whom we chose were both government officials, but this did -not in the least abate their enthusiasm for the enterprise. - -At last the night of nights arrived. We met at the Kallerghis house, -dressed there, and stole down the back way to two carriages awaiting -us. These took us to the Galata Bridge, whence we proceeded on foot. A -faithful manservant, dressed in the Anatolian _salvhar_, headed -the procession, carrying a lantern. We women came next, and our escorts -followed a little way behind, since Turkish women never walk in company -with men. - -Stamboul in the daytime is clamorous and overcrowded. The hundred and -one cries of its pedlars and shopkeepers come at one from all quarters, -and in half the languages of the earth, while one can hardly move about -for the congestion of people. At night it is as silent and dark as -the tomb. As we hurried along the narrow, crooked streets, we heard -the occasional tramp of the night patrol, the sharp yelps of the dogs -at their scavenger work, and that was all. I had never before seen -Stamboul at night, and I doubt whether I shall ever wish to see it -again. - -I began to realize the enormity of our enterprise, and to appreciate -that, had my brother been of a less adventurous temperament or a more -careful guardian, we should never have been where we were at that hour. -As we stumbled along over ill-paved alleys, which little deserved to -be called streets, the bravery with which I had confronted the idea -of possible dangers oozed out of me. Nursery tales of the ferocity of -the Turks recurred to a mind which the consciousness of doing wrong -made susceptible to fear. We were on our way to steal into a mosque, -the door of which was strictly closed against us. We were dressed in -Turkish clothes, and Christian women were forbidden under a heavy -penalty to dress as Turks, except in the company of Turkish women. -We were all Greeks, and the Turks had been our hereditary enemies -since 1453. Had I had the courage at this juncture to demand that we -returned, as I had insisted on coming, I should have been spared one -of the most terrifying nights of my life; but I lacked this, and my -shaky legs marched on through the unnamed and unnumbered streets to our -destination. - -The man who had been the primary cause of our risky enterprise awaited -us at the arched gateway of the _tekhe_. He signalled us to follow -him, and we entered an ill-lighted outer courtyard. Thence we went down -a steep staircase to an inner one that must have been considerably -below the street level. My recollections of our movements for the next -few minutes are hazy. We walked through one crooked corridor after -another till we came to what looked like an impasse. A young dervish -was standing so flat against the wall that I did not notice him until -Damon Kallerghis made a sign to him, to which he responded. He lifted -the heavy leather _portière_, which I had taken to be the solid -wall, and permitted us to pass under it, and, as it seemed to me, -beyond any human protection. Up to this moment it was still possible -for us to turn back; but when that leather _portière_ closed -behind us, we were in the dark _tekhe_ itself. - -An insane fear seized me. What if our guide had entrapped us here to -our destruction? I did not stop to reflect how much persuasion it had -required to get him to conduct us on this hair-brained escapade: I was -simply afraid, and my fear robbed me of every vestige of common sense. -Fortunately, beyond trembling till my teeth chattered, I attempted -nothing. - -A few yards farther over the stone floor, and we were pushed into a -stall, and another leather _portière_ closed us in. This was -the end of our journey. The front of the stall was covered with -lattice-work, and through its holes we could look down into a cavernous -square arena, dark, save for a big charcoal fire smouldering in the -middle. Around the arena ran an arcade, and under it we presently made -out the reclining forms of many dervishes of different orders, and -numerous Mohammedan pilgrims, quietly smoking. The stall on our right -and left must also have been occupied, for we heard the scuffling of -feet on the floor, and then silence. - -I really cannot say how long we sat on our low stools, looking down on -the weird scene beneath us, before the oppressive silence was broken -by a fearfully plaintive sound which seemed to come from far away, and -which, for lack of a better word, I shall have to call music. On and -on it went, rising and falling, monotonous, dull, and melancholy. It -penetrated the whole place, seeming to drug the atmosphere, till one -felt as if any phantasmagoria of the brain might be real. - -It had another effect, this dreadful, insistent sound. After a few -minutes a desire to shriek, even to bite, came over me, and I began -rhythmically to tear my _feredjé_ in time to the music. - -From this condition I was roused by a strident yell, and looked -through the lattice with renewed attention. The arena was beginning -to fill with long-cloaked dervishes carrying lighted torches. A mat -was spread near the charcoal fire, and on this the sheik, or abbot, of -the brotherhood took his place, cross-legged. The nerve-racking music -ceased while he offered a short prayer. - -When this was over, other dervishes came into the arena, received -torches, and ranged themselves under the archways, like caryatides. -The maddening music started again, and the dervishes, joining hands, -made the round of the enclosure in a slow, dancing step, somewhat -like the step of a dancing bear, gradually increasing the violence of -their movements. Then each one took off his _taj_, or head-dress, -kissed it and passed it over to the sheik. The music grew faster, but -lower in tone, and more infuriating. The dervishes, with heads bowed -and shoulders bent, danced more wildly about the smouldering fire. The -long cloaks were thrown aside, and the men appeared, naked, except for -the band around their waists, from which hung long knives. They threw -out their arms, as if in supplication, and bent back their heads in -terrible contortions. Yells of “_Ya Hou!_” and “_Ya Allah!_” -mingled with the music. - -Little by little the men lost every vestige of resemblance to human -beings. They were creatures possessed by a demoniac madness. They -shrieked and yelled inarticulately, their voices blending curiously -well with the hellish music. When their frenzy reached its climax, -they drew their knives from their belts and began stabbing themselves. -The blood trickled down over their bodies, and added to the sinister -aspect of the scene. After a while some of them threw themselves into -the fire, and then with ferocious yelps jumped out of it. Others, as if -they were hungry wolves, and the fire their prey, fell upon it and ate -the lighted charcoal. The smell of burning flesh was added to the smell -of sweat and blood, and made the close air almost unbearable. - -When at last they could whirl no more, yell no more, stab themselves -and eat fire no more, one by one they fell to the ground. The music -became ever faster and fainter, as if it were agonizing with the men -who danced to it, until, as the last man collapsed, it, too, ceased. -The sheik then rose from his mat and went from one prostrate form to -another, breathing into their faces, and ministering to their wounds. -He who died on such a night, it was said, would become a saint. - -Dazed and shaken, we left our stall and stumbled along the corridors -until we reached the entrance. There were other people, and I was -vaguely aware of cries and sobs, but heeded nothing. I wished to get -out of the _tekhe_ as if my salvation depended on it. At the outer -door I gave a great sigh of relief, and ran on after our Anatolian with -his lantern. - -I was by no means myself yet, but a feeling of relief came upon me when -the cold, damp air of the night struck my face. I was trying to get -away from the music, which still clung to my nerves. For a considerable -time I walked on until a hand touched my shoulder. Startled, I turned, -and by the light of the moon, which had risen, looked into the eyes of -a veiled woman who was a stranger to me. Other veiled forms surrounded -me, none of whom I knew. - -“Hanoum effendim,” said the one who had touched me, smiling, “I am -afraid you have lost your party, and by mistake have come with ours.” - -Her words were like a cold but revivifying bath. - -“I must have done so,” I replied, trying to avoid much conversation. “I -will go back.” - -“Come with us for the night,” she suggested. - -Thanking her, I took to my heels. I had not paid much attention to -the crooked streets traversed thus far, and as I absolutely lack the -sense of location I must now have gone in some other direction than -that of the _tekhe_; for after long running back and forth, and -hiding in the by-streets whenever I heard anyone approaching, I came -to the awful conclusion that I could not find the _tekhe_, and, -alone and unprotected, was lost in the streets of Stamboul. I wondered, -too, what the others were doing. Afterward I learned that, when they -got to the entrance, one of the women of our party had fainted, and, -to avoid danger, they had hidden in a dark passage while waiting for -her to come to her senses. In their excitement they did not notice my -disappearance, and when they found it out they searched everywhere, -finally deciding that the others should go home while my brother and -one of the men hid near the _tekhe_, thinking that sooner or later -I should turn up there. It was only in the early morning that they went -away, hoping that by some lucky chance I had returned to the house. - -Meanwhile I was roaming far from the _tekhe_, exposed to all kinds -of dangers. I grew desperate. Horrible stories of the Greek Revolution -recurred to my mind: how our women were tortured to death by the Turks, -and how others, to avoid shame and torture, had thrown themselves into -the sea. If I could only reach the water! With that idea in my mind -I ran in the direction in which I thought the sea lay. Fragments of -prayer taught me in childhood, and long forgotten for lack of use, came -back to me, and I began to pray. I was glad for the many saints in the -Greek Faith to whom I could appeal. I tried to remember where in the -church was the particular niche of each of the saints. It took my mind -from my danger, and gave it a definite object, as I hurried on. - -Into the intensity of my prayers there broke the muffled sound of -leather boots. The night patrol was on its rounds. I stood still. -To all appearances I was a Turkish woman, alone in the streets. The -patrol would arrest me. What if I threw away the _feredjé_ and the -_yashmak_? Though as a Turkish woman I should be taken to prison, -what my fate would be as a Christian I did not know, and the unknown -fate was the more terrifying. The Turkish garb was my danger, but also -my momentary protection. - -I drew the black silk about me. While waiting for the approach of the -night patrol, my mind worked quickly. I must belong to some man’s -harem, either as lady or slave. I was afraid that I might not act -meekly enough for a slave; then it must be as somebody’s wife. Whose -should it be? The tall, stalwart figure of Arif Bey flashed across my -mind’s eye. He had had two wives when I knew him: he probably had more -now--and besides I knew where his town house was. - -By the time the patrol came near me I felt quite safe in the thought -of the dashing figure and handsome face of the man I had chosen as my -husband. I walked up to the patrol, though I was swallowing hard, and -told them that I was lost, and wished them to take me to the police -station and send for Arif Pasha, my husband. I addressed myself to the -man who appeared to be the officer of the small band, and spoke very -low, in order that he might not detect any hesitancy in my Turkish. - -He saluted in military fashion, divided his few men into two -groups, and between them escorted me to the police-station. There a -consultation took place between him and his superior, and the latter -asked me where I had been, and how I had happened to lose my party. - -I smiled sweetly at him. “I shall tell that to my husband, and he will -tell you, if he thinks best.” - -This was so admirable a wifely sentiment that it left my inquisitor -bereft of questions. - -“It is a long way to your house,” he remarked. “It may take some hours -for your husband to come here.” - -“That does not matter, if you will only send for him.” - -He took me to a large room and locked me inside. I had no means of -knowing whether he would send for Arif Pasha or not, but I argued to -myself that the name was too big for a policeman to trifle with. It -remained to be seen whether the pasha would come at the summons, or -would first go into his _haremlik_ to find out whether one of his -wives were really missing. And if he had several homes, as rich Turks -often have, would he be at the address I gave, or would he be with -another wife at another house, or possibly not even in the town? - -My thoughts were far from pleasant. I sat on my stool praying to my -Maker as I have never done before or since. I thought that after this -experience I should become a very wise and careful woman. Alas! - -The night grew older, and the greyish light gradually pierced the -darkness, as I disconsolately wondered what would happen to me. - -There were steps outside, the key turned, and Arif Pasha entered the -room, and shut the door behind him. - -My father used to say: “Don’t be humble with the Turks. Ask them what -you want, and ask it as your right.” - -“Please be seated, Arif Pasha,” I said, “and I will tell you all about -it.” - -“And, pray, who are you?” he asked. - -“I will tell you that also,” I answered, with as confident a manner as -I was able to assume. - -He drew up a stool and sat down opposite me. Then I told him the whole -adventure, adding that I had sent for him to get me out of the scrape. - -When I had finished, he threw back his head and laughed heartily. “So -you are my wife, are you?” he exclaimed. - -I laughed, too, tremendously relieved that he was not angry with me. - -“I remember you well now,” he went on, “and, if you are not any better -disciplined than you were a few years ago, you will make a troublesome -handful of a wife,” and again he roared. “I told your precious brother -once that, if he didn’t use more discretion in bringing you up, you -would keep him pretty busy. And now what do you think I can do for you?” - -“Why, you will just get me out of here, and drive me to the Kallerghis, -where I am staying.” - -Arif Pasha looked at me with a kind of puzzled exasperation. “How old -are you?” he asked. - -“Sixteen.” - -“Well, can’t you see that if I drove you there at this hour your -reputation would be ruined?” - -“Oh!” I exclaimed blankly. “Then what must we do?” I was quite willing -to leave it all to him. - -A fresh access of merriment overcame the Turk. He laughed till the -tears came into his eyes. I stood by, inclined to join in with him, yet -not quite sure whether it was directed against me or not. In truth, -there was a sardonic humour in the situation which I did not understand -until some hours later. - -“Did ever a man find himself in such a position!” he gasped, wiping his -eyes. “Here I am routed out of bed at an unearthly hour, and dragged -across Stamboul to a police-station, to discover myself possessed of a -Greek wife I never knew I had--and to get her out of jail!” - -He went to the door and clapped his hands. To the soldier who responded -to the signal he said a few words, and then returned to me. - -“I have sent for coffee and something to eat.” - -“But I don’t want anything to eat. I only want to get out of here,” I -said petulantly. - -“Pardon me,” he said with severity, “but I am not accustomed to speak -twice to my wives. They do what I say without objections.” - -“But I am not your wife,” I retorted, nettled at his lofty tone. - -“No? I thought you said you were,” and again his laugh filled the room. - -When the coffee and _galetas_ were brought in, I ate meekly, and -they tasted good. The hot coffee, especially, warmed me, and made -things seem more cheerful than they had. - -When we had finished eating, he said to me: “Now, mademoiselle, my -carriage is downstairs, but I have explained to you why I cannot drive -you direct to the Kallerghis.” - -“Suppose you take me to your home, and tell your favourite wife about -it,” I suggested. - -His dark-blue eyes danced. “You think she will believe me, -mademoiselle?” - -“Why not?” - -He shook his head. “When you are a woman, you will understand many -things you do not now, and I hope you will still have cause to trust -men as you do now. But, mademoiselle, they are not all trustworthy, and -women are right not to believe what they say.” - -He caressed his clean-shaven chin and became lost in thought. Presently -he unfolded his plan, and, even in my youth and impatience, I began -to see that the sole object of his precautions was to get me into the -house in such a way as to save me from any breath of scandal. - -The sooner we left the station-house the better it would be. He spoke -a few words to the police-officers, and then told me to follow him. -There was a closed coupé awaiting us, and when we were in it he pulled -down both curtains. “We are going on a long drive until it becomes -respectable daylight. Then we shall go to your house, as if I were -bringing you back from a visit to one of my wives.” - -It was after nine o’clock when we reached the Kallerghis house. - -“Now,” he said, “arrange the _yashmak_ so that it will look like -a European scarf, and hold your _feredjé_ as if it were a silk -cloak, and don’t look frightened. I will get out and ring the bell, and -stay here talking and laughing with you for a minute. If you see people -whom you know, bow cordially to them, and do not act as if there were -anything unusual in the situation.” - -When the servant answered the bell, I got out of the carriage, and Arif -Pasha, bending over my hand, said: - -“Mademoiselle, tell your brother that I shall forget ever having seen -you to-night.” - -“Thank you,” I said. - -Of the man who opened the door I asked: “Is my brother or Kyrios -Kallerghis in?” - -“No, mademoiselle. They have been here several times this morning, but -are out now. They seem to be in some kind of trouble.” - -“As soon as they come in, tell them I should like to see them.” - -It was a haggard and miserable brother who came to my room an hour or -so later. - -After telling him all my adventure, I repeated Arif Pasha’s message. - -My brother gave me a long, thoughtful look. - -“Do you know,” he said at last, “that Arif and I have been deadly -enemies for the last three years?” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -IN THE WAKE OF COLUMBUS - - -This night of terrors proved my last adventure in Turkey. Soon -afterwards events began to force me to feel that in order to live my -own life, as seemed right to me, I must flee from all I knew and loved -to an unknown, alien land. It is a hard fate: it involves sacrifices -and brings heartaches. After all, what gives to life sweetness and -charm is the orderliness with which one develops. To grow on the home -soil, and quietly to reach full bloom there, gives poise to one’s life. -It may be argued that this orderly growth rarely produces great and -dazzling results; still it is more worth while. People with restless -dispositions, people to whom constant transplanting seems necessary, -even if they attain great development, are rather to be pitied than to -be envied; and, when the transplanting produces only mediocre results, -there is nothing to mitigate the pity. - -By nature I was a social revolutionist, and I liked neither the -attitude of the men towards the women nor of the women towards life, -among the people of my race. I have learned better since, and know now -that social laws exist because society has found them to be wise, and -that little madcaps like me are better off if they respect them. But at -that time I had more daring than wisdom, and longed to go where people -lived their lives both with more freedom and with more intensity. -Moreover, I wanted to “do something”--like so many feather-brained -girls all the world over--just what, I did not know, for I had no -especial talents. - -With a fairly accurate idea of my own worth, I knew that I was -intelligent, but I was fully aware that I was the possessor of no gifts -that would place me among the privileged few and outside the ranks of -ordinary mortals. Brought up on books and nourished on dreams, I had a -poor preparation with which to fight the battle of life, particularly -in a foreign country, where everything was different, and difficult -both to grasp and to manipulate. The only factor in my favour was my -Greek blood, synonymous with money-making ability; for we Greeks have -always been merchants, even when we wore _chlamidas_ and reclined -in the _agora_, declaiming odes to the gods, talking philosophy, -or speculating on the immortality of our souls. - -Knowing my race as I did, and aware that it succeeded in making money -in climates and under conditions where other races failed, I was -confident that I could earn my own living. There is something in us -which justifies the tale of Prometheus. Even before I was fifteen I was -quietly planning to leave Turkey, to go and seek what fortunes awaited -me in new and strange lands--a course which my imagination painted -very attractively. America beckoned to me more than any other country, -perhaps because I thought there were no classes there, and that every -one met on an equal footing and worked out his own salvation. - -We are all the possessors of two kinds of knowledge: one absorbed -from experience, books, and hearsay, which we call facts; the other, -a knowledge that comes to us through our own immortal selves. This -last it is impossible to analyse, since it partakes of the unseen -and the untranslatable. We feel it, that is all. This subconscious -knowledge--to which many of us attach far greater importance than we do -to cold facts--is usually as remote as a distant sound, though at times -it may be so clear as to be almost palpable. This secondary knowledge -told me I must go to America--America that rose so luminous, so full of -hope and promise on the never-ending horizon of my young life. - -I had not the remotest idea of how my dream of going there could be -realized; but I believe that if one keeps on dreaming a dream hard -enough, it will eventually become a reality. And so did mine. A Greek -I knew was appointed consul to New York, and was shortly to sail with -his family to the United States. I had a secret conference with them, -offering to accompany them as an unpaid governess, and to stay with -them as long as they stayed in America. They accepted my offer. - -This I regarded merely as a means of getting away from home. After -I left them my real career would begin. That I was prepared for no -particular vocation, that I did not even know a single word of English, -disconcerted me not at all. Accustomed to having my own way, I was -convinced that the supreme right of every person was to lead his life -as he chose. I do not think so any longer. On the contrary, I believe -that the supreme duty of every individual is to consider the greatest -good of the greatest number. That I succeeded in my rash enterprize is -more due to the kindness of Providence than to any personal worth of -mine. - -Of America actually I knew almost nothing, and what I thought I knew -was all topsy-turvy. The story of Pocohontas and Captain John Smith -had fallen into my hands when I was twelve years old. I wept over it -and surmised that the great continent beyond the seas was peopled by -the descendents of Indian princesses and adventurers. My second piece -of information was gathered from a French novel, I believe, in which a -black sheep was referred to as having gone to America “where all black -sheep gravitate.” And my third source of information was “Uncle Tom’s -Cabin,” the book which makes European children form a distorted idea of -the American people, and sentimentalize over a race hardly worth it. - -This made up my encyclopædia of American facts. That all those who -emigrated thither succeeded easily, and amassed untold wealth, I -ascribed to the fact that being Europeans they were vastly superior to -the Americans, who at best were only half-breeds. You who read this may -think that I was singularly ignorant; yet I can assure you that to-day -I meet many people on my travels in Europe who are not only as ignorant -as I was, but who have even lower ideas about the Americans. - -We landed in New York in winter, and went directly to Hotel Martin, at -that time still in its old site near Washington Square. - -What did I think of America at first? This indeed is the most difficult -question to answer. I was so puzzled that I remained without thoughts. -To begin with, the people, for half-breeds, were extremely presentable. -The redskin ancestral side was quite obliterated. Then the houses, the -streets, the whole appearance of the city was on a par with Paris. What -appalled us all was the dearness of things. I remember the day when we -gave a Greek street vendor one cent for some fruit, and he handed us -one little apple. “Only this for a cent?” we cried; and so indignant -were we that we reclaimed our cent and returned him his apple. - -We managed to do ridiculous things daily. At our first evening meal at -the hotel, a tall glass vase stood in the middle of the table filled -with such strange flowers as we had never seen before. They were pale -greenish white, with streaks of yellow. We thought it very kind of the -proprietor to furnish them for us, and each of us took one and fastened -it on our dress. - -The waiters glanced at us in surprise, but it was nothing to the -sensation we created when we rose to go out of the dining-room. People -nudged each other and stared at us. Of the French maid who came to -unfasten my dress I asked: - -“Do we seem very foreign?” - -“No, indeed,” she replied, “I should have taken Mademoiselle for a -French girl, except that she wears her hair loose on her back.” - -“Then why did the people in the dining-room stare at us so?” - -She suppressed a giggle. “Yes, I know, Mademoiselle, I have heard about -it. It is the flower Mademoiselle is wearing.” - -“What is the matter with it?” - -“Nothing, except that it is not a flower--it is a vegetable, called -celery.” - -I do not know how many more absurd things we did during the three -weeks we stayed at the hotel. Then we took a flat near Riverside Drive -the rent of which staggered us, but when it came to the servants we -almost wept. Four pounds a month to slovenly girls who were only -half-trained, who made a noise when they walked, and who slammed the -doors every other minute. - -I was anxious to start my English studies at once, for as yet I could -only say “All right,” a phrase which everybody used, _à propos_ of -nothing, it seemed to me. I went to the Normal College to inquire about -the conditions for entering it. The president received me. He was the -first American man with whom I talked. He had lovely white hair, and -a kind, fatherly face. He spoke no French, and sent for a student who -did; and when she translated to him what I wanted, he explained that I -could not enter college until I knew English and could pass my entrance -examinations. The young girl who translated offered to teach me English -for a sum, which, to me, coming from the East and cheap labour and -possessor of small financial resources, seemed preposterous. Still I -liked her eyes: they were dark blue, and green, and grey, all at once, -with long and pretty lashes; so I accepted her offer. That very evening -she gave me my first lesson, and proposed that instead of paying her I -should improve her French in exchange for her English lessons, an offer -that I was very glad to accept. She was my first American friend, and -remains among my very best. - -We had only been a few months in New York when my Greek friends -were obliged to return to Turkey. I resolved to remain behind. I -must confess at once that I did so out of pride alone. New York had -frightened me more than the capture by the brigands, the earthquake, -and an Armenian massacre in which I once found myself, all put -together. Yet to go back was to admit that I had failed, that the world -had beaten me, and after only a very few months. - -I had just sixty dollars, and my courage--robbed a little of its -effervescence. Since I had had only two English lessons a week, and no -practice whatever, because all the people we met spoke French to us, my -vocabulary was very limited, but I managed to get about pretty well. -Once in a shop I asked for “half past three sho-es,” and obtained them -without trouble. - -Before my friends left New York for Constantinople they gave me a -certificate saying that I was qualified to be a governess--for which -I was really as qualified as to drive an engine. Since I had had no -chance to modify my opinion about the origin of Americans, I still -looked upon them as inferiors, and considered myself quite good enough -for them. Taking a small room in a small hotel, I applied to an agency -for a position. It did not prove quite so easy to obtain as I had -thought it would. In the first place, I was not French born; secondly, -I was ridiculously young looking; and then of course I had to admit -that I had been a governess in a way only. - -How amusing it was to be presented as a governess! Most of the ladies -spoke such comical French, and asked questions which I thought even -funnier than their French. I could have found a place at once, if I -had been willing to accept twenty-five dollars a month as a nursery -governess, and eat with the servants. - -Meanwhile most of my money was spent, and to economize I walked miles -and miles rather than take the street cars; and then came the time when -all my money was gone, and I was in arrears with my rent, and had no -money for food. - -I do not wish anyone to suppose that I was miserable. On the contrary, -I liked it: I was at last living the life I had so often read about. I -was one of the great mass of toilers of the earth, whom in my ignorance -I held far superior to the better classes. I had romantic notions about -being a working girl, and my imagination was a fairy’s wand which -transfigured everything. Besides, I was a heroine to myself. Those who -have even for one short hour been heroes to themselves can understand -the exaltation in which I lived, and can share with me in the glory of -those days. - -At this time I happened to apply to the Greek newspaper for a position, -not because I thought there was any chance for me, but because it was -so interesting to apply for work. Every time I applied to a new person, -it was a new adventure; and I had applied so many times, and been -rejected so often, that I did not mind it any more. I knew that if the -worst came to the worst I could for a time become a servant. I was well -trained in domestic work and could cook pretty well; for, when we Greek -girls are not at school, a competent person is engaged to come into the -house and train us systematically in all branches of housekeeping. The -idea of becoming a servant, of entering an American home and obtaining -a nearer view of my half-breeds within their own walls appealed to me. -What I objected to, was being hired as a governess and treated as a -servant. - -To my surprise, the Greek newspaper, a weekly then, took me at once on -its staff. I was delirious with joy, not so much because I was going -to earn money as at the idea of working on a newspaper. It seemed so -glorious, so at the top of everything. - -Just at this time--at the agency, I think--I heard of a French home, -far out on the West Side in the vicinity of Twenty-third Street, where -French working girls stayed while seeking positions. I went there, and -made arrangements to stay a few months; and from there sought my hotel -proprietor. I told him that the Greek newspaper had engaged me at a -salary which did not permit me to live at his hotel, and what was more -that I could not at the moment pay him what I owed him--three weeks’ -rent, I believe--but that I would pay him as soon as possible. He was -very nice about the matter, and said it would be “all right,” though I -doubt very much if he ever expected to see his money. - -My work on the newspaper was hard and tedious. I am a bad speller, and -can write a word in five different ways on one page without discovering -it. On account of this failing I was often taken to task by the editor -in chief, who was the proprietor, and had some black moments over it, -until one of the type-setters quietly suggested to me that I should -pass over my stuff to him and he would correct the spelling before the -editor saw it, which I did ever after, and was very thankful to him. - -My newspaper work was not only of long, long hours, but it absorbed -all my time, as well as my energy and strength, and shortly after -undertaking it I had to give up my English studies. I was too worn out -physically and mentally to continue them. - -It was not so bad during the cold weather, but suddenly, without the -slightest warning, the cold gave place to burning heat. There was no -spring. That lovely transition period in which all is soft, both in -air and in colours, did not exist in that American year. The summer -burst fiercely over the city and scorched it in a few days. It grilled -the pavements; it grilled the houses; it multiplied and magnified -the noises of horse and elevated cars, of street-hawkers and yelling -children--and these noises in turn seemed to accentuate the heat. Every -morning I took the Sixth Avenue elevated train at Twenty-Third Street, -and all the way to the Battery there was hardly a tree or a blade of -grass to meet the tired eye, to soothe the over-wrought nerves, nothing -but ugly buildings--ugly and dirty. And as the train whizzed along, -the glimpses I had of the people inside these buildings were even -more disheartening than the ugliness and dirtiness of the buildings -themselves. - -And this was my America, the country of the promised land. It seemed -to me then as if my golden dream had turned into a hideous nightmare -of fact--a nightmare which threatened to engulf me and cast me into -that unrecognizable mass continually forming by the failures of life. -That I did not sink down into it was, because, in spite of the hideous -reality, I remained a dreamer, and those who live in dreams are rarely -quelled by reality. In that fearful, hot, New York summer I began to -dream another dream which made the heat more tolerable. Daily, as -the elevated train noised its way to the Battery, I imagined myself -having succeeded, having amassed wealth, from which I made gifts to the -thousands of toilers in that scorched city. I planted trees for them -everywhere, along the streets, along the avenues; and wherever there -was a little vacant plot of land I converted it into a tiny park. There -I saw the people sitting under the shade of my trees, and so real did -my dream become that I began actually to live it, and suffered less -from the heat myself; for I was constantly on the look out for new -spots where I could plant more trees. - -At luncheon time I used to go out for a little stroll on the Battery, -and there I used to see immigrant women, dressed partially in their -native costumes, and surrounded by numbers of their little ones, -jabbering in their own lingo. One day I sat down near a solitary woman, -unmistakably an Italian peasant. - -“Hot to-day, isn’t it?” I said in her own tongue. - -From the sea, slowly she raised her eyes to me. I smiled at her, but -received no response. - -“You look very tired,” I said, “and so am I. I suppose you are thinking -of your own country, of fields and trees, are you not?” - -“How did you know?” she demanded sullenly. - -“Because I do the same myself. I also am an immigrant. You look across -the sea with the same yearning in your eyes as is in my heart, for we -are both homesick.” - -She was no longer cross, after this, and because another woman was -sharing in her misery that misery became lighter. She began to tell me -of her sorrow. She had buried her second baby in two weeks, because of -the heat. Her lap was now empty. She spat viciously on the water. “That -is what I have in my heart for America--that!” and again she spat. - -I volunteered an account of my own disillusionment about America; and -there we sat at the edge of the Battery, two sad immigrants, telling -each other of the beauties we had left behind, and of the difficulties -we had to fight in the present. If I had then known a little of the -history of America, I might have told her of the first immigrants, -of how much they had to suffer and endure, and for what the present -Thanksgiving Day stood. I might have told her more of their hardships, -and how they had had to plant corn on the graves of their dear ones, -so that the Indians should not find out how many of them had died--but -I was as ignorant as she, and we only knew of our own homesickness and -misery. - -The heat had started early in May, and it kept on getting hotter and -hotter, with only sudden and savage thunderstorms, which passed over -the city like outraged spirits, and deluged it for a few hours with -rain that became steam as soon as it touched the scorched pavements. -Occasionally some fresh wind would penetrate into the city, as if bent -on missionary work; but it was soon conquered by the demons of heat. It -grew hotter and hotter. It seemed as if the city would perish in its -own heat--and then came the month of August! - -I shall never forget that August. Even now, wherever I am during -that month, my spirit goes back to that desolate city to share in -the sufferings of its poor people who have to work long hours in hot -offices, and then at night try to sleep in small, still hotter rooms, -with the fiendish noise of the city outside. And it is then again that -my dream comes back to me, to give trees all along the streets and all -along the avenues, and shady open spaces to breathe in. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -IN REAL AMERICA - - -It was in meeting again the hotel proprietor, when I went back to pay -him my debt, that I first realized what a summer in the land of promise -had done for me. He did not know me at all. Thinking it quite natural -he should not remember one among the thousands he saw yearly, I tried -to recall myself to his memory. - -“You don’t mean to say,” he cried, “that you are the child who was here -a few months ago! Have you been ill?” - -“No.” - -“Then what have you done to yourself?” - -I had not done anything to myself, but the work and the heat had robbed -me of all my colour, of half my hair, and of pounds of weight. - -At the French home my fellow-inmates were mostly of the servant class. -They were very kind to me: they made my bed, swept my room, washed my -hair, did my little mending, and even brought me sweets. They expressed -the hope that I should meet some nice American who would offer me -marriage, yet they confessed that American people were singularly -devoid of sentiment. - -Several months after I was on the staff of the newspaper, an American -scholar, who was writing a book on the Greek language, came to the -office to see if he could find some one to work with him, and the -proprietor recommended me. At his house I met his wife, who at once -took an interest in me. Since she spoke very little French and I no -more English, our progress was slow; but both of them were very kind -to me. The husband became my regular pupil, paying me for one hour’s -Greek lesson every day more than I was receiving from the newspaper -for all my time. So I decided to give up my position with the latter, -where there was really no chance for advancement, and devote myself to -teaching and studying. - -It was necessary for me at this time to change quarters. I could not -keep on living in a place where I had no companionship; so my Greek -pupil put an advertisement in the newspaper for me, saying that I -was an educated young Greek girl, who would exchange French or Greek -lessons for a home. - -From the replies to my advertisement he chose a school, and I went -to see the principal. She, too, had blue eyes, which had become the -symbol of kindness to me. She knew French, and we were able to speak -together. She wished me to coach a girl in Greek, to pass her entrance -examinations, and for this she was willing not only to give me my room -and board but my laundry. I at once moved to the school, and here ended -the first chapter of my American life. - - * * * * * - -I was now living in an American school, surrounded by Americans. I was -to see them live their American lives. One may imagine how interested I -was. The school had about a hundred day scholars, ranging from four to -twenty years of age; and twenty boarders, representing almost as many -States, and who--even to my untrained ears--spoke in almost as many -different ways. - -As a teacher of Greek I failed utterly. My pupil read a Greek I -could not follow, even with the text-book in my hand. My beautiful, -musical mother-tongue was massacred in the mouth of that girl, and -she understood me not at all. A living, thrilling language, with a -literature to-day on a par with the best of Europe’s, and spoken by -over ten million people, had to be considered as dead, and pronounced -in a barbaric and ridiculous manner. The girl was very angry at me when -I told her she did not pronounce it correctly. She informed me that -the ancient Greeks pronounced Greek as she did, and that I, the lineal -descendent of this people whose language had been handed down without -a break from father to son, and who used the very words of Plato every -day, did not know how to pronounce it. With what delight I should have -boxed her ears, only I had to remember that I was no longer I, but a -teacher, exchanging lessons for my living. - -After several lessons together she went to the principal and told her -that I was quite unfitted to teach her, and that she was only wasting -her time. - -The principal and I had a conference. “I can’t teach her,” I admitted, -“unless I learn to pronounce my own language in the execrable way she -does.” - -So far then as the school was concerned I had failed. I was a -Greek--but could not teach Greek! The thought of leaving the school -hurt me, because I had become very fond of the principal, who even used -to come to my room sometimes and kiss me good night. - -She offered me an alternative. “Wouldn’t you like to teach the little -girls French, talk French with the boarders, take them to church and -out for their walks?” - -I was delighted to accept this proposal. Not being permitted to speak -any English with the pupils materially impeded my own progress; but -there was a girl in the school who lived there without being a pupil, -and who, although she spoke French fluently, often talked English with -me, to give me practice. We became very good friends: she said I was to -be her daughter, and she would be my mother. To her I owe a great deal -of the pleasure I had during my first few years in America. - -The principal of the school also took the greatest pains with my -English. It is true, she did not permit me to speak it with the girls, -but she herself spoke it constantly with me. I could have had no better -person to take as a pattern, for she had a lovely accent, the best to -be found among Anglo-Saxons anywhere. She chose the books I was to -read, and told me the phrases to use, as if I were her most expensive -pupil. - -My general impression of America now was kindness. It was given to me -with the lavishness which is one of the chief characteristics of the -Americans. Yet because they were so different from the people I was -accustomed to, I could not understand them at all, and misunderstanding -them I could not exactly love them. In spite of their kindness they -had a certain crudity of manner, which constantly hurt me. Besides, -they seemed to me to live their lives in blazing lights. I missed -the twilights and starlights, the poetry and charm of our life at -home--just as I missed the spring in their calendar. - -It will perhaps surprise Americans to hear that, in spite of the -excellent table at the school, I was almost starved before I could -learn to eat American food. It seemed to me painfully tasteless: the -beef and mutton were so tough, compared to the meat in Turkey, and all -the vegetables were cooked in water--while as for the potatoes I had -never seen such quantities in my life. We had them for breakfast, for -luncheon, and for dinner, in some form or other. Just before we sat -down to table the principal said grace, in which were the words, “Bless -that of which we are about to partake.” To my untrained ear “partake” -and “potatoes” sounded exactly alike, and I wrote home that the -Americans not only ate potatoes morning, noon, and night, but that they -even prayed to the Lord to keep them supplied with potatoes, instead of -daily bread. - -My Greek pupil and his wife, and also my first American friend of the -Normal College found me pupils, so that I now earned considerable -money. My outside pupils, mostly married women, were very nice to -me; but I felt that they did not quite know how to take me. I had a -terribly direct way of speaking; and, being still under the impression -that as a nation they were my inferiors, my attitude must have -displayed something of that feeling. - -I began to be asked out to luncheons and dinners--partly as a freak, I -am afraid--and at one of these dinners I became the victim of American -humour. Happening to mention that I was surprised at not seeing any -real Americans in New York, I was asked what I meant. I explained that -I meant pure-blooded Indians. Thereupon my host very soberly told me -that I could see them any day at five o’clock, on Broadway, at the -corner where now stands the beautiful Flatiron building. He cautioned -me to be there at five exactly. - -The very first day I was free I went to the designated corner. I -arrived at half-past four, and waited there till almost six, without -seeing one Indian. Fearing that I had made a mistake in the corner, -I went into a shop and, in my broken English, made inquiries. Two or -three clerks gathered together and discussed the problem, and then one -of them, repressing a smile, said to me: “I am afraid some one has -played a joke on you. There are no Indians to be seen anywhere in New -York, except in shows.” - -That evening at school I told the whole story at table, feeling highly -indignant, and believing that my hearers would share my indignation. To -my amazement every one burst out laughing, and declared it to be the -best joke they had heard for a long time. Some of the girls even said -they should write home and tell it, because it was so “terribly funny.” - -Their attitude was a revelation to me. My host had deceived me, and -had wasted two hours of my time and my strength, by giving me a piece -of information that he knew to be false; yet every one thought it -delightfully humorous. The only excuse I could find for this conduct -was that they were a nation of half-breeds, and did not know any -better. Indeed, as time went on, American humour was to me the most -disagreeable part of Americans. It lacked finesse: it was not funny to -me--only undeveloped and childish. Daily I was told that I had no sense -of humour, and that, like an Englishman, I needed a surgical operation -to appreciate what was so highly appreciable. - -Finally, I got very tired of being told I had no humour and could not -understand an American joke; so I determined to prove to them that I -not only understood their silly jokes but could play them myself, if I -chose. Now to me the essence of an American joke was a lie, told with a -sober face, and in an earnest voice. I played one on a girl boarder. To -my surprise, the girl, instead of laughing, began to cry and sob, and -almost went into hysterics. It made a great rumpus in the school, and -the principal sent for me. - -“My dear, is what you said true?” she asked, with the greatest concern. - -“No, not a word of it,” I replied. - -“Then why did you say it to the poor girl?” - -“To deceive her, and play an American joke on her.” - -The principal stared at me an instant, and then burst into immoderate -laughter. She called the victim and the other older girls to her and -explained my joke, and they all went into peels of laughter. In spite -of its inauspicious beginning my American joke was a huge success; -and I could not understand why both the principal and my “mother” -united--after their amusement had subsided--in cautioning me to make no -more American jokes. - -For one year I stayed at the school; then, having saved some money from -my private lessons, and having enough pupils assured me for the coming -year, I decided to leave the school and go into a private family, for -the sake of my English, and also in order to see American home life. -I still felt very ignorant about the American people: in their own -way they were so complex, and they could not be judged by European -standards. - -Almost with stupefaction do I read the interviews reported by the -newspapers with distinguished and undistinguished foreigners, who, -after a few days’ sojourn in the United States, and a bird’s-eye -view of the country, give out their comprehensive and eulogistic -opinions. They fill me with amazement, and I wonder whether these other -foreigners are so much cleverer than I, or whether they are playing an -American joke on the American people. - -The family with whom I went to live turned out to be a Danish husband -with a German wife. Their children, however, were born and brought -up in America, so that I did mingle with Americans of the first -generation. That year away from school enabled me to poke around -a lot, in all sorts of corners and by-corners of New York. I took -my luncheon daily in a different place, and spoke to all sorts of -people, and heard what they had to say. The papers I read faithfully, -and every free evening I would attend some public meeting, from a -spiritualistic séance to any sort of a lecture. I also spent one entire -night in the streets of New York. All the afternoon I slept. At seven -o’clock I dressed and went to dinner alone in one of the so-called -best restaurants of Broadway, and then to the play. The time between -half-past eleven and five in the morning I spent in walking in Broadway -and in Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Avenues. I took the elevated train to -the Battery, then up to Harlem, and down again by another line. New -York at night is very different from New York in the daytime. It seemed -to me that even the types which inhabited it were different, and I saw -a great deal which was not pleasant to see; but no one bothered me, -either by word or look. - -Before this year I used to think that to be absolutely free, to go and -come as I pleased, would be the acme of happiness; to have no one to -question my actions, to be responsible only to myself would be the -_koryphe_ of freedom. Yet this year, when I was free to go and -come as I pleased, and had no one to whom I had to give any account -of my actions, I found to be the most desolate of my life, and my -freedom weighed on me far more than ever restraint had at home. I came -to realize that though an individual I was part of a whole, and must -remain a part of that whole in order to enjoy life. - -That year humanized me, so to speak, and made me understand the reason -for much that I used to laugh at before--such, for example, as the -spinster’s devotion to her rector, to settlement work, or even to a -parrot, a cat, or a dog. Whenever now I see a woman in a carriage with -a dog on her lap, I may join with those who laugh at her; but at the -same time I wonder if it may not be poverty and loneliness of life -which make that woman, rich in money, lavish the treasures of her heart -on a dumb creature. - -At the end of the year I returned to the school, and willingly placed -myself again in harness. During this year I made the acquaintance of -John Fisk’s books, and discovered the error of my preconceived notions -about the American people and their origin. He taught me who the early -settlers really were, whence, and why they had come. I read of their -privations and struggles, and of their ultimate success. For the first -time I looked upon this continent as peopled by the white race, and the -shame I felt for my past ignorance was only mitigated by my desire to -atone for it. I mapped out a thorough course of reading, and all the -spare time of that year and the next was devoted to systematic study of -American history, literature and poetry. - -And, as I read American history, it came over me how different the -beginning of this race was from the beginning of all the other -civilized nations of the world. Whereas the others all started by a -strong barbaric race descending upon a weaker people and seizing their -cattle and their lands by brute force, America alone started with the -great middle classes of all civilized races, who came to the new world, -not with brute force as their weapon, but with the desire to carry out -in a wild and virgin country the spiritual and social development they -craved. What a marvellous, unprecedented beginning! What a heritage for -their sons! I am afraid many of them do not appreciate the greatness -of that beginning, otherwise why should they try to go beyond those -early settlers and seek to establish their descent from William the -Conqueror, or some little sprig of nobility, and make themselves -ridiculous where they ought to be sublime? - -By temperament I am afraid I am something of an extremist. My barely -tolerant attitude toward my new country changed into a wholly -reverential one. I desired to become an American myself, considering -it a great honour, as in the olden days people came from all over -the world to Greece, to become that country’s citizens. I started my -Americanism by adopting its brusqueness--it is an unfortunate fact -that one is as likely to imitate the faults of those one admires as -the virtues--but brusqueness which is so characteristic of America -is mitigated by its young blood and by its buoyancy, and we of the -old bloods can very little afford that trait. It must have made a -poor combination in me, and many people must have found it hard to -tolerate. The principal of the school told me, during my third year -with her, that I had so completely changed in manners as to be hardly -recognizable. When I first came to live with her, she said, I had had -exquisite and charming manners; now, I had become as brusque as any raw -western girl. She little understood that she was attacking my new garb -of Americanism. - -The school year began in October and ended in May, leaving me four -months to my own devices. Two vacations I spent in a fashionable summer -resort, not far from New York, where I not only had pupils enough to -pay my expenses but ample time to read English and American books, and -also opportunity to study the attitude of rich Americans toward a girl -earning her own living--an attitude not very different from ours in the -Old World. One summer I spent in a working girl’s vacation home, where -all the girls were shop girls, and where I met the proletariat of the -New World on an equal footing. And once I spent the entire four months -visiting in the mountains of North Carolina, where I learned how much -more American money is needed for schools there than in Constantinople, -where it goes, not to civilize the Turks but to educate at the least -possible expense to themselves the children of well-to-do Bulgarians, -Greeks, and Armenians--especially the first. And the recent actions of -the Bulgarians have proved eloquently how little American education -helps them; for American civilization must be sought--it cannot be -imposed from without. - -My third year at school, the head French teacher left it, and the -principal offered me her place; and so, four years after I landed in -the new world I was at the head of the French department of one of the -best private schools in New York City. I had many good friends, was -making considerable money outside the school, and was studying at the -University of New York. To all appearance I had succeeded; yet truth -compels me to confess that, so far as my inner self was concerned, I -was a total failure. - -I had thought that if I were to join the great army of the world’s -workers, and lead my life as seemed to me worthy; if I were to cut -loose from the conventions and traditions which hampered my development -in the old world, happiness would come to me. Far from it! I realized -then that I was only one of the victims of that terrible disease, -Restlessness, which has taken hold of women the world over. We are -dissatisfied with the lines of development and action imposed by our -sex, and the causes of our dissatisfaction are so many that I shall -not even try to enumerate them. The terrible fact remains that in our -discontent we rush from this to that remedy, hoping vainly that each -new one will lead to peace. We have even come to believe that political -equality is the remedy for our disease. Very soon, let us hope, we -shall possess that nostrum, too. When we find ourselves politically -equal with men, and on a par with them in the arena of economics, we -may discover that these extraneous changes are not what we need. We -may then, by looking deep down into our own hearts see whether, as -women, we have really done the best we could by ourselves. We may -then find out the real cause for our discontent, and deliberately and -with our own hands draw the line of demarcation again between men and -women, and devote ourselves to developing that greater efficiency in -ourselves along our own lines, which is the only remedy for our present -restlessness. - -I believe that only then shall we find contentment and a better -equality than the one for which to-day some of us are even committing -lawlessness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -BACK TO TURKEY - - -Yet after I had come to believe that these conclusions of mine were the -right ones--and at the present moment I still believe them to be so--I -did not rise, pack my trunk and return to my home. On the contrary, -disillusioned though I was, I meant to stay in America. My little self -felt pledged to the onward fight, into which evolution has plunged us. -My generation belongs to that advance guard which will live to see the -fight ended in America, and I must be present, after the great victory -is won, to see how we shall face the reconstruction period. This was -the reason why, when my mother, about to undergo a serious operation, -sent for me to be with her, I bought my return ticket before leaving -America, and kept it always with me--ready for use at a moment’s notice. - -The love of our native land forms an indelible part of our souls. A mad -joy possessed me all the way from New York to Genoa; a delirium from -Genoa to the Dardanelles; and from the straits to the harbour I was -speechless with emotion. How wonderful my empress city looked, when -the mist gradually lifted and disclosed her to my homesick eyes. Up to -that moment I had thought never to see her enchanting face again; yet -there I was, standing on the promenade deck of a commonplace steamer, -while she was giving me--me, her runaway child--all her smiles and all -her glory. - -We must be very strong, that we do not sometimes die of joy. - -When the little tender docked at the quay of Galata, how I should have -loved to have escaped the customs bother, the many and one greetings, -and the hundred and several more stupid words one has to say on -disembarking. Yet having acquired a little wisdom, I was patient with -the custom-house men, and polite to the people who had been sent to -meet me. Obediently even I entered the carriage which was to take me -up, up on the seven hills where we Christians live. - -Not till several days afterwards was I free to start on my pilgrimage; -and as I walked up and down the main streets, and in and out of the -narrow, crooked, dirty lanes, which lead one enticingly onward--often -to nowhere--I was aware that my pilgrimage had a double aim. First, I -wanted to recognize my old haunts, and second, to find that part of -myself which had once lived within those quarters. Alas! if the streets -were the same, I was not. Where was the girl, full of enthusiasm -and dreams, who had trod these same streets? Something within me had -changed. Was it my faith in mankind, or my faith in life itself? - -As I walked on, unconsciously I was picturing these same streets, -clean, full of life and bustle, were Turkey to belong to America. I -could see the trolleys they would have here, the terraces they would -build there, the magnificent buildings they would erect, and all the -civilized things they would bring to my mother country. My eyes, -Americanized by the progress of the new world, kept seeing things that -ought to be done, and were left undone, for no other reason than that -they had been left undone for hundreds of years. The saddest of all sad -things is when one begins to see the faults and failings of one’s own -beloved, be it a person or a country. I hated myself for finding fault -with Turkey because she was clad in a poor, unkempt garb. - -Before the Galata Tower, just where the streets form a cross, I turned -to the left, and walked to the next street. At its entrance the leader -of a band of dogs rose from his slumbers and barked at me angrily. -I started, and then stood still. This was a street where once I had -lived, and the canine leader barking at me was the same as six years -ago, only older, more unkempt, and filthier. It hurt me to have him -bark at me. It meant that he did not know me--or did he with his -doggish intuition feel that I was disloyal in my heart to the old -régime? - -“Why, Giaour!” I cried, “don’t you know me? We used to be friends, you -and I.” - -He stood rigidly on his old legs, his band alert to follow his lead. -These dogs, which were anathema to the stranger, had a double duty -to perform in their unhappy city. They were not only scavengers, but -the defenders of her defenceless quarters. The stranger only saw -their scarred bodies and ugly appearance; but we who were born in -Constantinople knew how they formed their bands, and how they protected -us. Each quarter had some twenty dogs, and they guarded it both against -other dogs, and against strangers. The young ones, as they grew up, had -to win their spurs, and their position was determined by their bravery -and skill, both in fighting and in commanding. I had seen Giaour win -his leadership, a month or so before I left Constantinople. He had been -nicknamed Giaour by a Turkish _kapoudji_, because he had a white -cross plainly marked on his face. - -To my entreaties he only stood growling. “Come, Giaour,” I begged, “I -have changed, I know, but I am still enough myself for you not to bark -at me.” - -He listened, mistrustfully watching every movement I made, and because -of this I perpetrated a shameful deed. I retreated to Galderim -Gedjesi, bought a loaf at the baker’s, and with the bribe in my hand -returned. The band was now lying down, but Giaour was still standing, -his pantallettes shaking in a ruffled and disturbed fashion. In his -heart, perhaps, he was not pleased with himself for having barked at me. - -I approached him, the bread in my hand. After all, is not Turkey the -land of bribes? - -“Come, Giaour!” I went and sat down on a door-step. Slowly and with -dignity he followed. “Here is some bread from the baker’s for you, and -please try to remember me! It is more than I can bear to have you bark -at me, Giaour.” - -He sniffed at the piece of bread I offered him; then ate it, and then -another piece, and another. When he had finished the entire loaf he -placed both his paws on my lap and studied my face intently. - -“Giaour, you know me now, don’t you?” I begged. “I used to live here -six years ago, though it seems like ages.” - -From across the way an Englishman came out of a house and approached -me, where I sat with Giaour’s paws in my lap. “I beg your pardon,” he -said shyly, lifting his hat, “but you are a stranger here, and those -fellows are dangerous. Besides they are unhealthy.” - -This was the last straw: he took me for a foreigner. - -“Thank you,” I replied, “but I am not afraid. The fact is, we are of -the same kennel, Giaour and I.” - -“Kennel--h’m!” - -“Oh, I know Giaour has never seen a kennel, as you understand it in -England; but he has a fine doggish soul, just the same.” - -“H’m!” the Englishman sniffed again, “perhaps he has,” and lifting his -hat, he went away. - -It is a curious fact that unless an Englishman in England knows you, -he would rather perish than speak to you first; on the Continent he -would rather be rude to you than decent; but in Turkey his nature -seems to change, and he is really a nice human being. As I watched the -man go away I was thinking that if England were governing Turkey how -delightful everything would be. Yes, England would be the one nation -to succeed with Turkey. America was too bustling, after all, and had -too little experience. Germany had too much paternalism and discipline; -Austria-Hungary lacked fundamental honesty; while as for Russia--that -ought never to be. Russian bureaucracy, grafted on the corrupt Turkish -stem would only make matters worse. But England, with her love of -order and decency, and with just enough discipline to put matters to -rights--how delightful it would be, and how the Turks would enjoy -stopping whatever they were doing, at four o’clock, to have tea! Alas! -between Mr Gladstone’s indiscreet utterances, and Sir Elliot’s bad -management, England let her hour slip by, and Turkey was deprived of -her one chance to be regenerated. - -Giaour threw back his head and emitted a howl. It was strident and -harsh, the howl of the plains of Asia; for Giaour was of the blood of -the once monarchs of the East, though now he was a ragged, diseased -dog--scavenger, and soldier of fortune. - -Lovingly my hand patted his old head. “Ah, Giaour, my boy, these are -hard days for thee and thy race, and even I am recreant in my heart to -thee. Forgive me! Perhaps the Powers, in not agreeing among themselves, -have reached the only possible agreement at present--the Turk in -Constantinople.” - -I took his paws and put them down. “Don’t bark at me again, old boy.” - -He waved his stump of a tail, just a tiny bit. He had eaten my bread, -he had looked into my eyes, yet he was not quite certain of me. Perhaps -he, too, had lost faith in life and in mankind. - -On leaving Giaour, I plunged into that tangle of streets through which -one may deviously find one’s way to Kara-keuy. To a stranger it is a -veritable labyrinth; but though I have little sense of locality I could -still find my way through it. It is one of the few thoroughly oriental -quarters left on this side of the Galata Bridge. - -Arrived at Kara-Keuy I stopped happily, watching the life about me. How -delightfully--how terribly--everything was the same. From afar I heard -a cry--“_Varda!_” and then saw the half-clad figure of the runner, -who, waving a red flag to right and to left, was warning pedestrians -that the street-car was coming. Ah! this was indeed my Constantinople, -disdained by progress, forgotten by time. How emblematic was this -runner before the street-car. He reminded me of the cynical words of -the crafty Russian statesman, Ignatief, who once exclaimed: “They talk -of regenerating Turkey--as if that were possible even to the Almighty -above.” - -My dear, dear Turkey! She may start over again in Asia, but be -regenerated in Europe----? - -For a little while I walked on, and then entering a small -confectioner’s shop, frequented only by Turks, and squatting like them -on a low stool, I ordered a _kourous_ worth of _boughatcha_. -I ate it with my fingers, like the others. Near me sat two young -students of theology, talking politics. Their tone as much as their -words made me see bloodshed. In some ways the Turks are one of the -finest races, but they have been losing ground for the last two -hundred years and it hurts them, and in their heart they see red. No -wonder they make others see it, too. The conversation of the young -_softas_ was full of the sanguine colour. This was shortly after -1897. Turkey had just defeated Greece, and the old feeling of arrogance -was uppermost in the breasts of Mahomet’s followers. - -“Fork them out! Fork them out, the giaours,” cried the younger of the -two. “They are only fit for fodder, those Christian dogs.” - -I should have liked to linger over my _boughatcha_, but the -tension of the tone betrayed a heat above the normal. I paid my -_kourous_, and left the shop, praying both to the Christian God -and to the Mohammedan one that they might let these misguided children -see stretches of peaceful green, instead of always red. - -Slowly, slowly, now, I walked to the Galata Bridge, and turned to the -right, just behind the _karakol_ which houses the main body of the -Galata police. I was on my way to hunt up old Ali Baba, my boatman, him -with whom years ago I had shared the raptures of the Byzantine History. -My heart was beating fast. Would Turkey play me false this once? Would -the one living landmark of my past be chosen as the one to mark a -change in that changeless country? - -Hastening, I yet found myself lingering in my haste. If his place were -to be empty, if he were really gone, having himself been rowed over the -river Styx, would it not be better for me not to go there, but always -to remember his place filled by his kindly presence? - -Though reasoning thus, my feet still took me onward to where he used to -be, and there, at his accustomed place, sat Ali Baba, his face looking -like a nice red apple, wrinkled by the sun and rain. - -I went and stood before him. “Ali Baba!” I said, tears in my voice. - -He rose, a trifle less quickly than he used to, and looked at me -incredulously. - -“_Benim kuchouk, hanoum_,” he said slowly, rubbing his eyes. - -“Oh! it is I!” I cried. “It is I,” and gave him both my hands. - -We walked toward the little caïque, where he took some time to unfasten -the rope. We did not speak until he had rowed again mid-way, under the -bridge. - -“Where have you been all these many, many years?” he asked -reproachfully. - -“I have been to America.” I replied, “the newest and biggest of all -countries”--and as of old I was talking, and he was listening; only -this time it was not of the past, and of the people, who, having done -their work, were dead and forgotten, but of a country of a great -present, and a still greater future. And as of old his old face was -full of interest and kindness. - -Presently he asked, “But my little lady, what have you done with the -roses of your face? You are pale and worn out.” - -“One has to work hard in America,” I replied. “It is a country which -requires of your best, of your utmost, if you are to succeed.” And -again I went on to tell him of the fast trains which go sixty miles an -hour, of the elevated trains, flying above the middle of the streets, -and of the preparations for the subways, which were to burrow in the -depths of the city. - -“But why are they working so hard and preparing so much?” he asked, a -bit bewildered. “After all they will have to die, and when they are -dead they can only have a grave like anybody else.” - -I shook my head. “They are making away with the graves, my Ali Baba. -They have invented a quicker and more expedient way of getting rid of -the body. They place it on a table in a special room, and within two -hours all that is left of it is a simple white strip of clean ashes.” - -He gasped. “They have done that?” he cried in horror. “They have -done that! Allah, can’st thou forgive them?” He leaned towards me, -earnestness and entreaty in his kind face. “Don’t go back there, my -little one, don’t go back there again. It is an accursed country which -steals the peace from the living, their bodies from the dead, and robs -a child of her roses. Say that you are not going back, my little one.” - -Again I shook my head. “When I left there, my Ali Baba, I bought my -return-ticket. I wear it like an amulet around my neck. I am going back -as soon as my presence is no longer needed here.” - -He let his oars drop. “You are going back?” he asked with awe. “But -why?” - -I looked at him, and beyond him at old Byzantium--once Greek, now full -of minarets and mosques and all they stood for. A red Turkish flag -floated idly against the indigo sky. - -Why was I going back to that vast new country so diametrically -different from his own? Could I explain to him? - -No, I could not, any more than I could have explained, years ago, to my -little Turkish Kiamelé the meaning of my grand-uncle’s gift on my fifth -birthday. - -“Why are you going back?” Ali Baba insisted. - -No, I could not tell him: he could not understand. - -His flag was the Crescent, mine was the Cross. - - - - -THE SOUL OF A TURK - -BY - -VICTORIA DE BUNSEN - -_With 8 Illustrations_ - -_Demy 8vo, 10s. 6d. net_ - - -_Morning Post._--“The most delightful books are those which either -depict the characters of men and women, or those which reveal the -personality of the writer. Mrs De Bunsen’s account of her travels in -the Near East combines both these charms.” - -_Westminster Gazette._--“‘The Soul of a Turk’ is an interesting, -well-written book.” - -_Evening Standard._--“Mrs De Bunsen’s volume must have a niche all -to itself in the great library built up by travellers in Turkey. It -does actually fulfil the promise of its title.” - -_Daily Telegraph._--“It is an admirable and suggestive piece of -portraiture.” - -_Spectator._--“For insight and sympathy with the Oriental mind, -we have not read anything better than these pages for a long time. We -thoroughly commend this book to every one who enjoys following the -travels of a plucky, entertaining, and exceptionally intelligent woman.” - -_Athenæum._--“This delightful book is no mere collection of -‘ritual acts.’ It is full of shrewd observations on the people.” - -_Observer._--“Mrs De Bunsen’s book is no ordinary book of travel, -but really a very suggestive and thoughtful treatise on the faiths and -customs of the Eastern Turks, illuminated with a woman’s sympathy.” - - - - -_BOOKS BY STEPHEN GRAHAM_ - - -CHANGING RUSSIA - -A TRAMP ALONG THE BLACK SEA SHORE AND IN THE URALS - -_With 15 Illustrations and a Map. Demy 8vo, 7s. 6d. net_ - -_Pall Mall Gazette._--“A beautifully written book which reveals -the Russian people with a sympathy and a delicacy of perception that -are unsurpassed probably even in the work of the most gifted Russian -writers of to-day.” - - -UNDISCOVERED RUSSIA - -_With 16 Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 12s. 6d. net_ - -_The Spectator._--“Mr Graham writes so well that the aspects of -his subject tend to transfigure themselves under the spell of a style -whose delicate phrasing and soft melancholy often remind one of Loti’s -subtle-hued visions of men and things seen from beneath the half-closed -eyelids of artist and dreamer. Certainly there is in Mr Graham’s mood -and expression some elusively un-English element that makes his work -read at times like perfectly translated French. Still, his sadness -has its source, not in the passive weariness of Loti, surfeited with -civilisation and experience, but in the mysticism of a born wanderer.” - - -A VAGABOND IN THE CAUCASUS - -WITH SOME NOTES OF HIS EXPERIENCES AMONG THE RUSSIANS - -_With 16 Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 12s. 6d. net_ - -_Country Life._--“With a waterproof sleeping-sack across his -shoulders, and a strong infusion of Carlyle, Swinburne, and Nietzsche -in his head, the author of this wholly delightful book set out to -wander in the Caucasus. It was the spirit of Lavengro, however, that -supplied the real driving power, for in his veins, clearly, the sweet -passion of earth runs side by side with a strong savour of humanity. -Youth, spontaneity, and enthusiasm colour these striking Caucasian -pictures, for the vagabond was also a poet. You follow his adventures -with the same interest you follow an engrossing novel, because you see -the man and feel something of his passion.” - - -LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: - -Punctuation has been standardised. - -Spelling and variations have been intentionally retained as published -except as follows: - - Page 10 - hands of the vile Turkisk soldiery _changed to_ - hands of the vile Turkish soldiery - - Page 36 - mere rumour and heresay _changed to_ - mere rumour and hearsay - - Page 70 - can’t be, bcause you _changed to_ - can’t be, because you - - Page 73 - rythmically lapping the shore _changed to_ - rhythmically lapping the shore - - Page 74 - tied pieces of garlick _changed to_ - tied pieces of garlic - - Page 146 - thy felt a really patriotic pride _changed to_ - they felt a really patriotic pride - - Page 203 - this did not effect me at the time _changed to_ - this did not affect me at the time - - Page 257 - flat near Riverside Driver _changed to_ - flat near Riverside Drive - - Page 262 - to sooth the over-wrought nerves _changed to_ - to soothe the over-wrought nerves - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHILD OF THE ORIENT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Child of the Orient</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Demetra Vaka</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 9, 2021 [eBook #66019]</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHILD OF THE ORIENT ***</div> -<hr class="divider" /> -<h1>A CHILD OF THE ORIENT</h1> -<hr class="divider2" /> - -<div class="x-ebookmaker-drop figcenter width500" id="cover2"> - <img src="images/cover2.jpg" width="500" height="792" alt="Cover" /> -</div> - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop divider2" /> -<p class="center"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></p> - -<ul class="nobullet list-center center"> -<li>SOME PAGES FROM THE LIVES OF TURKISH WOMEN</li> -<li>IN THE SHADOW OF ISLAM</li> -<li><span class="smcap">Etc.</span></li> -</ul> -</div> - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<p class="center p180">A CHILD OF THE ORIENT</p> - -<p class="center mt3 p120">BY DEMETRA VAKA</p> - - -<p class="center mt3">LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD<br /> -NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY<br /> -TORONTO: BELL AND COCKBURN. MCMXIV</p> -</div> - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider2 x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p class="center"><i>Turnbull & Spears, Printers, Edinburgh</i></p> -</div> - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop divider2" /> -<p class="center lh">To<br /> -TRUMBULL WHITE<br /> -EDITOR AND FRIEND, WHOSE APPRECIATION<br /> -AND ENCOURAGEMENT<br /> -HELPED TO SMOOTH THE HARD ROAD<br /> -OF A BEGINNER</p> -</div> - - -<div class="section"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>vii</span> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> -<tr> -<th class="tdr">CHAP.</th> -<th class="tdr2" colspan="2">PAGE</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">I.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Token</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#i">3</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">II.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Echoes of 1821</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#ii">8</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">III.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Other Faces, other Phases</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#iii">15</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Djimlah</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#iv">24</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">V.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">We and They</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#v">30</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Aunt Kalliroë</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#vi">36</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">In the Hollow of Allah’s Hand</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#vii">46</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Yilderim</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#viii">60</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IX.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">I am Reminded of my Sons Again</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#ix">73</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">X.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Garden Goddess</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#x">85</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XI.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Misdeeds</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xi">110</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">How I was Sold to St George</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xii">118</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Master of the Forest</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xiii">133</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIV.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Ali Baba, my Caïque-tchi</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xiv">157</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XV.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">My Lady of the Fountain</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xv">166</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVI.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Chakendé, the Scorned</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xvi">193</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">A Great Lady of Stamboul</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xvii">212</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Inventiveness of Semmeya Hanoum</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xviii">221</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIX.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Chivalry of Arif Bey</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xix">233</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XX.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">In the Wake of Columbus</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xx">251</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XXI.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">In Real America</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xxi">266</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XXII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Back to Turkey</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xxii">282</a></td> -</tr> -</table> -</div> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>3</span></p> -<p class="center p180">A CHILD OF THE ORIENT</p> -</div> -<h2 id="i">CHAPTER I<br /> -<span>THE TOKEN</span></h2> - - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">O</span>N the morning of my fifth birthday, just as I awoke from sleep, my -grand-uncle came into my room, and, standing over my bed, said with a -seriousness little befitting my age:</p> - -<p>“To-day, <i>despoinis</i>, you are five years old. I wish you many -happy returns of the day.”</p> - -<p>He drew up a chair, and sat down by my bed. Carefully unfolding a piece -of paper, he brought forth a small Greek flag.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what this is?”</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what it stands for?”</p> - -<p>Before I could think of an adequate reply, he leaned toward me and said -earnestly, his fiery black eyes holding mine:</p> - -<p>“It stands for the highest civilization the world has ever known. It -stands for Greece, who has taught the world. Take it and make your -prayers by it.”</p> - -<p>I accepted it, and caressed it. Its silky texture<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>4</span> pleased my touch. -Its heavenly blue colour fascinated my eyes, while the white cross, -emblem of my religion as well as of my country, filled my childish -heart with a noble thrill.</p> - -<p>My grand-uncle bent over nearer to me.</p> - -<p>“In your veins flows the blood of a wonderful race; yet you live, as I -have lived, under an alien yoke—a yoke Asiatic and uncivilized. The -people who rule here to-day in the place of your people are barbarous -and cruel, and worship a false god. Remember all this—and hate them! -You cannot carry this flag, because you are a girl; but you can bring -up your sons to do the work that remains for the Greeks to do.”</p> - -<p>He left his chair, and paced up and down the room; then came again and -stood beside my bed.</p> - -<p>“Sixty-one years ago we rose. For nine consecutive years we fought, and -to-day two million Greeks are free—and Athens, with its Acropolis, is -protected by this flag. But the greater part of the Greek land is still -under the Mussulman yoke, and St Sophia is profaned by the Mohammedan -creed. Grow up remembering that all that once was Greece must again -belong to Greece; for the Greek civilization cannot and must not die.”</p> - -<p>He went away, leaving me with thoughts too vast for a child of five -years, too big for a child who was not even strong. Yet even at that -age<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>5</span> I knew a great deal about the past of Greece, and better yet did I -know of the fight of those nine years, which had made the little flag -I was caressing again a flag among free nations. I folded and unfolded -the miniature flag, which my sons must some day carry forward.</p> - -<p>It was the last day of February. Outside a storm was raging. I could -hear the angry Sea of Marmora beating violently against the coast, as -if it would fain annihilate with its liquid force the solidness of the -earth. And the rain, imitating the sea, was beating mightily against -the window-panes, while the wind was forcing the tall, stalwart pines, -to bend humbly to the earth. Half of the elements were doing violence -to the other half—as if they were Greeks destroying the Turks, or -Turks oppressing the Greeks.</p> - -<p>It was a gloomy birthday, yet an exaltation possessed me. I kept on -stroking the little flag. I loved it, and with all the fervour of my -five years I vowed to do my duty by it.</p> - -<p>The door opened softly, and Kiamelé, my little Turkish attendant, came -in. Quickly I tucked away the tiny flag.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Rose Petal.” She kneeled by my bed, and, putting her -arms around me, smothered me with kisses. “So we are five years old -to-day—pretty old, I declare! We shall be looking for a husband very -soon. And now show me what the grand-uncle gave you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>6</span> -Her face was droll and piquant. Her eyes possessed infinite capacity -for expression. That I loved her better than anyone else at the time -was undeniable. And only a few minutes ago I had been told to hate her -race.</p> - -<p>I entwined my fingers with hers. “Do you love me, Kiamelé?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“After Allah, I love none better.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you did love me better than Allah,” I said, “for then I could -make you a Christian.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head drolly; “No, no, I like Allah.”</p> - -<p>“But then,” I protested, “if you like Allah, you must hate me.”</p> - -<p>“Hate you! You, whom I love better than my heart!”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got to; for I am a Greek, and you are a Turk.”</p> - -<p>She folded me in her arms. “What a funny baby—and this on your -birthday! Now don’t talk foolishness. Show me your presents.”</p> - -<p>From under my pillow, where I had tucked it, I produced the little flag.</p> - -<p>She gazed at it, her head cocked on one side.</p> - -<p>“What’s this?”</p> - -<p>“This,” I said with emphasis, “is the flag of my country—and my -birthday present.”</p> - -<p>“What a funny present,” she murmured. “And is this all the grand old -gentleman gave you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>7</span> -I was disappointed at her reception of it, and to save my little flag -from feeling the mortification I hugged it and kissed it. I wanted very -much to explain to Kiamelé all that it stood for, and how my sons some -day must carry it forward; but how could I, since to show my allegiance -to that flag I must hate her, my bestest of friends? So I said nothing, -and on that, my fifth birthday, I began to see that battles did not -only exist between people, storms did not only rage among the elements -of nature, but that heart and mind could be at such variance as to -cause conflicts similar to those taking place outside my window.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>8</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="ii">CHAPTER II<br /> -<span>ECHOES OF 1821</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">O</span>WING to certain circumstances, I was not living with my immediate -family, but was under the care of my father’s uncle. He and I lived -on one of those islands that rise high above the Sea of Marmora; and -our near horizon was the Asiatic coast of Turkey, which stretched -itself in the blue waters like a beautiful odalisk. We lived in an old -huge house, which belonged to him, and was far away from any other -habitation. The sea was in front, the mountains behind, and thick -woodland on the other two sides.</p> - -<p>From the time I could remember my uncle conversed with me as if I were -grown-up, yet I felt that he held me in contempt because I was a girl -and could not carry arms. Life contained nothing for him beyond the -hope of waging warfare against the Turks.</p> - -<p>He had been only a lad in 1821 when the Greeks had risen in desperation -to throw off the Mussulman yoke. Enlisting among the first, he had -fought during the entire nine years. Subsequently he fought in every -one of the uprisings<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>9</span> of Crete. When not fighting, he was back in -Turkey, in his home, where he thought, studied, and sometimes wrote -inflammatory articles for the Greek reviews.</p> - -<p>At times he had tremendous physical suffering, mementoes of his many -battles. On those days I did not see him. He possessed that noble and -rare quality of being ashamed of his bodily ailments. But after my -fifth birthday I was present on many days when mental anguish possessed -him. On such days he would stride up and down his vast gloomy rooms, -talking of the Greek race and of the yoke under which so large a part -of it was living.</p> - -<p>He would stand by the window and tell me about Crete, pointing, as if -the island were visible from where he stood—and I believe that in -spite of the distance, he actually saw it, for it was ever present in -his mind, and he knew every corner of it.</p> - -<p>“There it lies,” he would say, “lapped by the waves of the -Mediterranean; but were the mighty sea to pass over it, it could not -wash away the noble Cretan blood which drenches it. It is soaked with -it, and it will be blood-soaked until the Mussulman yoke has been -wrenched from it—or till there is no more Cretan blood to shed.”</p> - -<p>Or he would cry out: “Don’t you hear the shrieks of the Cretan women -as they leap into the foaming sea, holding fast to their hearts -their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>10</span> little ones? Yes! they would rather meet their death in the -merciless but clean sea, than fall, living, into the hands of the vile -<a name="Turkish" id="Turkish"></a><ins title="Original has 'Turkisk'">Turkish</ins> -soldiery. Oh! my God—my Christian God—how can you -permit it?”</p> - -<p>He would bow his head on his arms and remain motionless, until the -feeling which was choking him had passed. Then, in a subdued tone, he -would resume:</p> - -<p>“Crete! Crete! brave, indomitable Crete—always victorious, yet always -handed back to the Turks by Christian Europe. My beautiful Crete, when -shalt thou be free?”</p> - -<p>It was on such days that he exhorted me to remember the little Greek -flag he had given me, and all that it stood for. On other days, when he -was calmer, he took me systematically with him through the entire nine -years of the Greek revolution, and by him I was carried through all its -glorious battles.</p> - -<p>He had fought first under the leadership of Marco Bozaris, and he -entertained for this heroic chief an admiration amounting to worship.</p> - -<p>“We were only a handful, mostly lads, at first,” he would say, with a -happy smile on his saddened face. “Yes, we were mostly lads, and Marco -himself a little over thirty. But how we did obey him, and how we did -fight!”</p> - -<p>Here he would lose himself in memory for a while.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>11</span> -“I can see Marco now, seated cross-legged on the ground, a crude map of -his own make before him, we bending over him. ‘Here, boys,’ he would -say, pointing to the map, ‘here is where we fight the Turks to-morrow, -and by night time we shall carry our holy flag farther along. We do—or -we die!’ Then the handful of us would kneel and kiss the flag, and -swear by to-morrow to carry it farther along—or to die. And we always -carried it farther along.”</p> - -<p>He described Marco Bozaris so vividly to me, that when one day he -showed me a picture which he had smuggled into Turkey for my benefit, I -instantly cried: “Why that is the great Bozaris—your Marco!”</p> - -<p>I believe that I never pleased him more in my life than by this. He -actually kissed me.</p> - -<p>Next to Bozaris, the man he admired and talked of most was the intrepid -mariner, Constantin Kanaris.</p> - -<p>“The Turkish fleet was blazing with lights,” he told me, “for the -Kabitan Pasha was celebrating. One of the warships was filled with -Greek maidens, ranging from twelve to eighteen years. They had been -carried off that day without distinction of class or name. The -daughters of the great Greek chieftains and of the commonest sailors -had been herded together, and brought on this battleship to be made the -victims of the night.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>12</span> -“Word of this had come to us. We sat gloomily around a rude wooden -table, saying not a word. Then Constantin Kanaris spoke, his voice -hoarse, his face terrible to look at:</p> - -<p>“‘Take them away we cannot—unless God sends us ships from heaven at -this minute. But if we cannot take them away, we can at least send them -to God, pure as he has given them to us.’</p> - -<p>“We listened breathless, while he unfolded to us his daring plan. He -would go out in a small row-boat to the battle-ship alone. ‘Never fear! -I may not come back—but the battle-ship will be blown up.’</p> - -<p>“He left us—so dumb with despair that for a long, long time none of us -spoke. Hours passed since he had gone; then a far distant boom made the -still air to tremble, and we, rushing to the shore, saw the sky bathed -in burning colours.</p> - -<p>“We lads were for shouting for joy, but at the sight of the older men, -whose heads hung low on their breasts, we remembered that none yet knew -whose were the daughters just sent to God. Each father there, maybe, -had a child to mourn.”</p> - -<p>My uncle’s friendship lasted as long as Kanaris lived, and at times he -went to see him in Greece. Once he reproached me bitterly for having -been born a few years too late to be taken to the home of Kanaris, to -behold the great chieftain and to be blessed by him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>13</span> -After the untimely death of Marco Bozaris at Karpenissi, my grand-uncle -fought under other great leaders, until in turn, in the last three -years of the revolution, he himself became a leader.</p> - -<p>Of his own exploits he never spoke. He entrusted this task to -posterity. It was of this and that other leader he loved to speak, and -as his narrative progressed all the names which have immortalized the -modern history of Greece passed before me—passed before me not as -names from a book, but as men of flesh and blood, in their everyday -aspects as well as in their heroic moments.</p> - -<p>And I, seated on my little stool, with the big book I had brought him -to read me still unopened on my lap, would listen enthralled, wishing -that I might have lived when my uncle had, and might with him have -kneeled in front of Marco Bozaris, to kiss the Greek flag, and to swear -that I would do or die.</p> - -<p>One day when he was more violent than usual against the Turks—when -he almost wept at the thought of living under the Turkish yoke—an -inspiration came to me.</p> - -<p>“Uncle!” I cried, “why do we live here? Why don’t we go to live where -the Greek flag flies?”</p> - -<p>Abruptly he stopped in his walk before me, his tall, thin figure erect, -his eyes aflame.</p> - -<p>“Go away from here?” he cried. “Go away<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>14</span> from here, and be a traitor? -Yes, that is what so many thousands did in 1453. They abandoned their -hearths and the graves of their ancestors. They abandoned their lands -and their schools, and above all they abandoned St Sophia. To go away -from here is to forsake our country—for ever to relinquish it to the -conqueror. We must stay <em>here</em>!” he thundered, “and bear with our -<i>patrida</i> the yoke of slavery, till the day shall come, when again -strong, we shall rise to break that yoke, and hear again a Christian -priest in St Sophia!”</p> - -<p>I was seven years old when he died; yet I felt almost as old as he. -Having never seen other children, and therefore having never shared in -childish frolics, my world consisted of the woes of Greece.</p> - -<p>His death was a terrible shock to me, and yet I cannot say that I quite -understood what death meant. For days and days I pondered as to where -he was, and whether he were comfortable or not. I saw his body, wrapped -in a huge Greek flag, the icon of his patron saint clasped in his cold -hands, lowered to rest beside the men of his family, who, like him, had -lived and died under the Turkish yoke.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>15</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="iii">CHAPTER III<br /> -<span>OTHER FACES, OTHER PHASES</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">M</span>Y uncle was now gone—gone, let us hope, to where he was to find rest -from racial hatred, rest from national ambition.</p> - -<p>Gone though he was, his influence over my life was never to go -entirely—in spite of radical modifications. He had enriched my -childhood with things beyond my age, yet things which I would not give -up for the most normal and sweetest of childhoods. He had taught me the -Greek Revolution as no book could ever have done; and he had given me -an idea of the big things expected of men. He had given me a worship -for my race amounting to superstition, and bequeathed to me a hatred -for the Turks which would have warped my intelligence, had I not been -blessed almost from my infancy with a power of observing for myself, -and also had not good fortune given me little Turkish Kiamelé as a -constant companion.</p> - -<p>In the abstract, the Turks, from the deeds they had done, had taken -their place in my mind as the cruellest of races; yet in the concrete -that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>16</span> race was represented by dark-eyed, pretty little Kiamelé, the -sweetest and brightest memory of an otherwise bleak infancy.</p> - -<p>Alongside the deeds of the Greeks, and the bloodshed of the Greek -Revolution, I had from her “The Arabian Nights.” She told them to me -in her picturesque, dramatic way, becoming a horse when a horse had to -come into the tale, and any other animal when that animal appeared; and -she imitated them with so great an ingenuity that she suggested the -very presence of the animal, with little tax on my imagination. She -talked with a thick voice, when a fat man spoke, and a terribly funny -piping voice when a thin one spoke. She draped herself exquisitely with -her veil, when a princess came into the tale; and her face assumed -the queerest look when the <i>ev-sahibs</i>, or supernatural sprites, -appeared. Had it not been for her and her “Arabian Nights,” I should -never have laughed, or known there was a funny side to life; for I had -little enough occasion for laughter with my uncle. Even to this day, -when I am amused, I laugh in the oriental way of my little Kiamelé.</p> - -<p>After the death of my uncle, the course of my life was changed. I made -the acquaintance of my own family, who now came to live on the island, -in the same old house where he and I had lived. It took me a long time -to adjust myself to the new life, so different from the old, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>17</span> -especially to meet children, and to try to talk with them. I had known -that other children existed, but I thought that each one was brought up -alone on an island with a grand-uncle, who taught it the history of its -race.</p> - -<p>My father and I quickly became friends, and I soon began to talk -with him in the grown-up way I had talked with my uncle, much to his -amusement, I could see.</p> - -<p>One day when I was sitting in his lap, with my arms encircling his -neck, I said to him:</p> - -<p>“Father, do you feel the Turkish yoke?”</p> - -<p>He gave a start. “What are you talking about, child?”</p> - -<p>It was then I told him what I knew of our past, and of our obligations -toward the future; how some day we must rise and throw off that yoke, -and hear the holy liturgy again chanted in St Sophia.</p> - -<p>He listened, interested, yet a flush of anger overspread his face. He -patted me, and murmured to himself: “And we thought she would grow -stronger living in the country.”</p> - -<p>He bent down and kissed me. “I would not bother much, just now, about -these things,” he said. “I’d play and grow strong.”</p> - -<p>“But, father,” I protested, “uncle told me never to forget those -things—not even for a day; to remember them constantly, and to bring -up my sons to carry forward the flag.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>18</span> -“You see,” my father replied, very seriously, “you are not eight yet, -and I do not believe in early marriages; so you have twelve years -before you are married and thirteen before you have a son. During those -years there are a lot of nice and funny things to think about—and, -above all, you must grow strong physically.”</p> - -<p>I must say I was quite disappointed at the way he took things. I was -quite miserable about it, and might have become morbid—for I liked -to cling to the big dreams of the future—had it not been for my -half-brother. He was fourteen years older than I, and he, too, like -my uncle lived in the past. His past, however, went beyond my uncle’s -past; and from him I was to learn, not of the woes of Greece, but of -the glory of Greece, of her golden age, and of the time when she, Queen -of the World, was first in civilization.</p> - -<p>My horizon was gilded also by the Greek mythology—that wonderful Greek -mythology, which to my brother was living, not dead. He spoke one day -in such a way of Olympus that I exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“You talk as if Olympus really existed, and were not only mythology.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, it exists,” he replied. “I used to live there myself, until -they punished me by sending me down here. I cannot tell you all the -particulars, because, when Zeus is about to exile one, one is given a -potion which puts him to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>19</span> sleep, and while asleep he is carried beyond -the limits of the Olympian realm, and is left outside to live the life -of a man. But though he forgets a great deal—as, for example, how to -find his way back—he is left with the memory of his former existence. -That is his punishment. After his death, however, he is forgiven and -returns to Olympus again.”</p> - -<p>I stared at my brother, but his calm assurance, and the faith I had in -him, made me implicitly believe him—and to-day I think he really more -than half believed it himself.</p> - -<p>After this I was not surprised to have him tell me that the gods of -Greece were not dead, but forced to retire on the mountains of Olympus, -because Christianity had to come first. “You see, little one, you will -presently learn the Old Testament, as you are now being taught the -New—and as I am teaching you Mythology. You will find out, as you grow -older, that you need all three to balance things up.”</p> - -<p>From him I heard not only the names of the great Greek writers, but -he read to me by the hour from them. At first they were very hard to -understand, since the Greek we speak is so much simpler than the Greek -of Aristophanes and Sophocles; but since, after all, it is the same -language, I learned to recite it pretty well before even I knew how to -read and write.</p> - -<p>It was from my brother, too, that I learned to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>20</span> know the Greek -Revolution as our great modern poets sang of it; and before the year -was over I could recite the “Chani of Gravia” and other celebrated -poems, as American children recite “Mother Goose.”</p> - -<p>One day there came into our garden, where my brother and I sat, a -handsome young man, saying: “They told me you were in the garden, so I -came to find you.” He sat down by us and plunged into a conversation -about a certain game they were getting up, and of which my brother was -the captain. We escorted him to the gate, when he left us, and after he -was out of ear-shot I asked my brother who he was, as he had forgotten -to introduce us.</p> - -<p>“It is Arif Bey,” he replied rather curtly.</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean a real Turk?” I cried.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes.”</p> - -<p>“But you seemed so friendly with him!”</p> - -<p>“Why not? I like him first rate.”</p> - -<p>“How can you be friends with a Turk?”</p> - -<p>“He’s an awfully good fellow.”</p> - -<p>“But ought we to like them, and treat them as if they were our equals?”</p> - -<p>“Well, what can we do, sister? They are the masters here, and we belong -to the Turkish officialdom. We have got to be friendly with them.”</p> - -<p>“But we ought to hate them just the same, since we must kill them. -Wouldn’t you kill him, if you could?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>21</span> -“I don’t think I hate Arif Bey—and as for killing him, I hope I shall -never have to.”</p> - -<p>“But if we are not to kill them, how are we going to be free again, and -how can the Greek flag fly over the Galata Tower?”</p> - -<p>“Look here, baby, what you need is to play more and not think so much. -Now come, and I’ll teach you to climb trees, and for every tree you -climb yourself I’ll tell you a tale about the time when I lived on -Mount Olympus.”</p> - -<p>I was agile by nature, in spite of being frail, and in no time I -learned to climb even the tallest trees on our place, an occupation -which delighted me as much as anything I had ever done.</p> - -<p>Arif Bey I saw again and again, for I became the constant companion of -either my father or my brother, and I could not find it in my heart -to hate him. A few years older than my brother, he was taller and his -shoulders were broader, and he carried himself with a dash worthy of -the old demi-gods of Greece. As for his eyes they were as kind and good -to look into as those of my brother. What is more I was never afraid in -his presence, and one day he spoke so tenderly of his sick mother that -I pretty much changed my mind about the delight of seeing him killed. -It was then that I talked very eulogistically about him to my brother; -but one never can tell what grown-ups will do—they are the most -inconsistent of human beings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>22</span> -“Look here, baby”—he interrupted my praises of Arif Bey—“Arif is -handsome and a nice chap, and I can trust him up to a certain point; -but don’t get to thinking he is as good as we are. A Turk never is. -They have enough Greek blood in them to look decent, but they have -enough Turkish left to be Asiatics, and don’t forget that. An Asiatic -is something inferior at best. Look at Arif Bey himself, for example. -He is about the best of them, and yet, barely twenty-seven, he has two -wives already. There is Asia for you!”</p> - -<p>I was quite perplexed in regard to the proper attitude of mind toward -the Turks. The only girl I knew was Kiamelé—and I adored her. The -only man was Arif Bey—and he got so mixed up in my mind with the -demi-gods that I did not even mind his two wives. My uncle had been -dead for almost a year, and I had no one to incite me against them. -The old Greek writers and the beautiful mythology was beginning to -make me tolerant toward everybody. I began to lose the feeling of the -yoke, since Greece had once been the greatest of great countries. -When one has a past achievement to be proud of, one bears a temporary -humiliation better—and there was so much in the Greek past that the -weight of the yoke lifted perceptibly from my neck. It is true I kept -the little flag nailed under the iconostasis, before which I said my -prayers every<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>23</span> night, and when I felt that I was not quite as loyal to -it as I ought to be, I used to pray to the Christian gods to help me -to remember it. I say “gods,” because to my mind God and Christ, and -St Nicholas, and St George, and the rest of the saints were much the -same sort of a group as the old Greek gods, now in seclusion on Mount -Olympus.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>24</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="iv">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<span>DJIMLAH</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">O</span>N the day of Beiram my father was about to set out for a call on a -Turkish pasha.</p> - -<p>“Take me with you, father,” I begged, thinking of the pleasure of being -with him more than of going into a Turkish home. He acceded to my -request, actuated by the same motive as mine.</p> - -<p>The old pasha was receiving his guests in his superb garden, and I, -after eating all the sweets my father would permit me to, and becoming -tired of their talk, which happened not to interest me, slipped away. I -wandered about in the garden, and presently came across a little girl, -older than myself, yet not so old as to form a barrier between us. It -is true that we came very near fighting, at first, over the bravery of -our respective races, but we ended, thanks to the courtesy of my little -hostess, by becoming friends.</p> - -<p>Taking my hand in hers we ran all the way to where the pasha and -my father were seated. She interrupted their conversation without -ceremony,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>25</span> and perching herself on her grandfather’s knees, she -demanded that he should borrow me for her from my father.</p> - -<p>I stood listening, confident that my father would never, never consent -to such a terrible thing. When my father consented—reluctantly it is -true; yet he did consent—cold shivers ran up and down my back, and -my eyelids fell heavily over my eyes. I felt abandoned—abandoned by -the one human being for whom I entertained the greatest confidence. -Sheer will-power kept me from throwing myself on my father’s knees -and imploring him to save me from the Turks. Had I not been bragging -to the little girl but a few minutes before that I was a Greek, and -consequently an extremely brave person, I am sure I should have broken -into sobs. As it was, I let myself be led away by the little girl -without even kissing my father good-bye; for that would have broken -down my self-control. That, I felt, was more than even Greek blood -could do. I resigned myself to my dreadful fate, but my legs felt like -ripe cucumbers.</p> - -<p>Little Djimlah enveloped me in a long caress. “You are my very own -baby,” she said. “I never had one before, and I shall love you vastly, -and give you all I have.”</p> - -<p>Holding my hand in hers she began to run as fast as she could, pulling -me along down the long avenue of trees, leading to the house. At the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>26</span> -door she did not knock. It opened as by magic of its own accord.</p> - -<p>My first glimpse of the interior corresponded exactly with the pictures -of my imagination; for in 1885 Turkish homes still preserved all their -oriental customs. The hall was large, dark, and gloomy; and the eunuch, -who had opened the door by pulling his rope, added to its terrors. And -since that was a great festival day, and many ladies were calling, the -hall was lined with these sinister black men, the whites of whose eyes -glistened in the darkness.</p> - -<p>Still hand in hand, Djimlah and I mounted a flight of dark, carpetless -stairs and came to a landing screened by very much the same kind of a -curtain as those that hang outside the doors of the Catholic churches -on the Continent.</p> - -<p>“Open!” Djimlah cried, and silently two eunuchs drew aside the -curtains, and we passed to another flight of bare stairs, now full of -light and sunshine. With the sun a peal of laughter greeted us, and -when we reached the upper hall I felt a trifle less afraid.</p> - -<p>Scrambling about on rugs were what seemed to me at first to be a -thousand young women, very much like my Kiamelé, dressed in as many -colours as there were heads, barefooted and barearmed. They were having -the greatest frolics, and laughing like a pack of children.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, there!” cried Djimlah.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>27</span> -They stopped their romping, some of them rising up on their knees to -see us the better.</p> - -<p>“Why, Djimlah Hanoum, what have you there?”</p> - -<p>Djimlah surveyed me with eyes full of that humour which is so strong a -characteristic of the Turkish people, and replied seriously: “It looks -to me like a Christian child.”</p> - -<p>“And where did you find it?” they cried.</p> - -<p>“I borrowed it from the effendi, her father, who is out in the garden -talking to grandfather. She will be here a long, long time, as my own -baby.”</p> - -<p>“Really?” They became quite excited about this.</p> - -<p>“Yes. And she can understand us, and talk the way we do,” Djimlah -announced proudly, as if she had imparted to me a knowledge of her -language in the short time she had been holding my hand.</p> - -<p>“<i>Os-geldi! os-geldi!</i>” then they cried to me in welcome.</p> - -<p>“Now let’s go to grandmother,” said Djimlah.</p> - -<p>This bevy of women were the slaves of the house and the slaves of the -ladies who were with the great lady within. We passed through several -rooms, filled with the outdoor garments of the visiting ladies, and -then came into the <i>divan-khané</i>, or principal reception room, -where the hostess was entertaining her guests.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>28</span> -Djimlah, placing both her little hands on the floor, salaamed, and -then walked up to her grandmother, who, magnificently attired in her -orientalism, sat cross-legged on a hard sofa, which ran around three -sides of the room.</p> - -<p>“Here, grandmother, here is a Christian child. The effendi, her father, -is out with grandfather, and he has lent her to me.”</p> - -<p>I stood still, quite uncertain what was the proper thing for me to do. -I had never before come so near to a Turkish lady; and this one, with -her deeply dyed finger-nails, and her indoor veils, and her hundreds -of diamonds, distracted all my previous education in decorum. I merely -stared.</p> - -<p>“Welcome, little <i>hanoum</i>,” she said, after she, too, had stared -at me. “We shall do our best to make your stay among us seem like a -happy minute.”</p> - -<p>I picked up my little skirts and made her a European curtsy. She was -childishly delighted with it, and I was made to repeat it before every -lady in the room, who sat in her magnificence, cross-legged on the -divan.</p> - -<p>There were many, and by the time I finished my curtsies, and told my -name and my age, and how I had learned Turkish, and where I lived, I -felt quite at home, and when the old lady made us sit by her, and gave -us such quantities of candy as I had never been permitted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>29</span> to eat in an -entire year, I did not think once of the little flag that my sons were -to carry.</p> - -<p>They talked before us as if we were not there, and told a lot of funny -stories at which we were permitted to join in the laugh.</p> - -<p>The audience over, the ladies rose and salaamed. Djimlah and I rose, -too, and as Djimlah now kissed the hems of the ladies’ dresses, so did -I; and I was pleased to do so, for the ladies were reeking with strong -perfumes, a thing I had been taught to consider ill-bred, but which I -secretly thought lovely. We escorted the guests out to the ante-rooms, -where their attendants wrapped them in their black wraps and heavy -white gauze head-gear, and there we bade them good-bye.</p> - -<p>Some of them took me in their arms and kissed me, and their perfume -stayed with me even in bed that night.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>30</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="v">CHAPTER V<br /> -<span>WE AND THEY</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was a patriarchal home, this first harem into which I entered. It -consisted of the old <i>hanoum</i>, who was the first wife, and head -of the women’s part of the household, six other wives, whom she called -her sisters, several married daughters, the wives of some of the sons, -and two married grand-daughters. Among them they were the mothers of -numerous babies—indeed, there were babies all over the house; and -since each lady had several slaves there must have been at least a -hundred women and children.</p> - -<p>Djimlah happened to be the only child of her age. They were all sorry -for her, and said so constantly while doing their best to amuse her.</p> - -<p>There was little furniture in the house, just rugs and hard sofas, and -small tables upon which were always sorbets or sweets, and cushions of -all colours piled up on the rugs, where babies or grown-ups were always -lying slumbering. Various small musical instruments were also among the -cushions, and at any time some person would pick one of these up to -play and sing, so that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>31</span> most of the time, on the floor, there were both -people slumbering, and people playing and singing. And since the long, -curtainless windows were latticed, and the upper part entirely hidden -by creeping vines growing from pots, the whole place seemed to me like -a play-box, transformed into a fairy house, from which discipline, like -a wicked fairy, was banished.</p> - -<p>All the cooking was done in the men’s part of the house, and brought in -by eunuchs. At mealtimes we sat around small, low tables, on cushions, -and ate most of the things with our fingers, except rice and soup, -which we ate with pretty wooden spoons.</p> - -<p>The amount they permitted me to eat was incredible. Even to this day I -wonder what prevented me from becoming ill.</p> - -<p>Djimlah and I practically owned the house. We slid on the banisters; -we climbed on the backs of the slaves, who, at any time, were ready -to play horse with us; and we ate candy whenever and in whatever -quantities we pleased.</p> - -<p>No one said “No” to us, whatever we did, and the old <i>hanoum</i> -let us ruffle her beautiful clothes and disturb her even when she was -asleep. We slept on a little bed, made up at the foot of hers, in her -own room, and it was she who said our prayer, which we repeated, and -then kissed us good-night.</p> - -<p>The day had passed so rapidly, and had been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>32</span> so crowded with events and -candy that I had had no time to think. Once in bed, after Djimlah put -her arms around me and kissed me and then sweetly fell asleep, I had -plenty of time to review the day. It seemed preposterous that I, my -uncle’s grand-niece, should be here in a Turkish household, and in the -same bed with a Turkish little girl—a little girl I liked and should -hate to kill. Yet my uncle’s teachings were strongly with me and his -dark, fiery eyes seemed to pierce my heart. I tried to focus my mind -on the bad side of this household. There was the fact of the several -wives, and if it was bad for Arif Bey to have two wives, it must be -terribly bad to have seven, as had Djimlah’s grandfather, who did not -even have the excuse, to my thinking, of being young, handsome and -Olympian. On the other hand, the old <i>hanoum</i> liked those other -wives, and called them Sister, and Djimlah spoke of them lovingly. -Impelled by my uncle’s eyes I tried to dislike the Turks. I felt -disloyal to him, whom I could feel very close that night; but when I -fell asleep at last, my rest was not troubled, and on awakening again -Djimlah was leaning over me, cooing and laughing, and I began to laugh -too.</p> - -<p>The tears, which I had had the courage not to shed when my father said -that I might stay with Djimlah, flowed copiously when the time came to -leave her. I cried hard and loud, and so did<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>33</span> Djimlah and because we -two cried some of the slaves joined in, and then the old <i>hanoum</i> -said:</p> - -<p>“Now, young <i>hanoum</i>, that you have come once, you will like to -come again, and prove to us that we have made your stay happy.”</p> - -<p>“I’m ready to come this minute,” I sobbed. At this she laughed, and we -began to laugh, too; and thus I bade them good-bye.</p> - -<p>The first words I said on reaching my own home were that the Turks were -the nicest people in the world. My father was amused, but my mother was -horrified, and had she had her way I believe my first would have been -my only visit. As it was, eight days later I was again with Djimlah; -and thus it came about that from that early age I became a constant -visitor not only to Djimlah’s home, but also to that of other little -girls whom I met through her, and otherwise.</p> - -<p>As I grew older, the vast contrast between my race and theirs became -more and more clear to me; and I had the distinct feeling of partaking -of two worlds, mine and theirs.</p> - -<p>In my home there were duties for me from my babyhood, duties which had -rigidly to be performed; and things to be learned, remembered, and to -be guided by. The words duty and obligation played a great rôle in -my Greek home, and these two words, so stern, so irreconcilable with -pleasure, were absent from the Turkish homes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>34</span> -For me there was a tremendous Greek history to be learned and -understood; and the more one studied it, the more one had to suffer -because of the present; for in my home we lived with the past, we -talked of the past, and of the obligations which the past imposed upon -our present and future.</p> - -<p>In the Turkish homes there was no history to be learned. All they -seemed to know was that they were a great conquering race, that they -had come from Asia and had conquered all Europe, because they were -brave and the Europeans were cowards. There was no past or future in -their lives. Everything was ephemeral, resting on the pleasure of the -day, or better yet, on the pleasure of the moment; unconscious of the -morrow, and indifferent to the moment after the present.</p> - -<p>In entering a Turkish home, especially as I grew older, I felt as if I -were leaving my own life outside. They were different from us, these -women, these children of the Turks. They were so different, indeed, -that I rarely spoke to them of the things I felt or thought about at -home. I came to them ready to enjoy them, and to enjoy life with them; -and yet, as the years went by, deep down in my heart I felt glad to -be a Greek child, even though I belonged to the conquered race; and -I began to return to my home with greater satisfaction than I had -at first, and to put into my studies a fervour and a willingness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>35</span> -which might have been less, had I not been a visitor to these Turkish -households.</p> - -<p>Yet curiously, too, as I grew older, I liked the Turks more and more, -though in my liking there was a certain amount of protective feeling, -such as one might feel for wayward children, rather than for equals.</p> - -<p>I learned to see what was noble, charming, and poetical in their lives; -but I also became conscious that in spite of the faults of my race, in -spite of the limitations of our religion, our civilization was better -than theirs, because it contained such words as discipline, duty, and -obligation. And dimly I felt that we were a race that had come to the -world to stay and to help, while theirs was perhaps some day to vanish -utterly.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>36</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="vi">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<span>AUNT KALLIROË</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HERE is no use pretending that there has ever existed the least sense -of fraternity between the Greeks and the Turks. They had their quarters -and we had ours. They brought their customs and traditions from the -East, and we held fast to our own. The two races had nothing to give -each other. They ignored us totally, and we only remembered them to -hate them and to make ready some day to throw off their dominion.</p> - -<p>I have never heard a good word for the Turks from such of my people -as have not crossed their thresholds. It is almost unbelievable that -for upward of four hundred years we should have lived side by side, -ignorant of each other’s history, and positively refusing to learn of -each other’s good qualities. With entire sincerity the Greeks daily -relate to each other awful deeds of the Turks—deeds which are mere -rumour and <a name="hearsay" id="hearsay"></a><ins title="Original has 'heresay'">hearsay</ins>, -and contain only a grain of truth, or none at all.</p> - -<p>Each side did its best to keep the other as far away as possible. They -had their resorts and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>37</span> -we had ours. They had their <i>tekhé</i> and -we had our schools; they had their mosques and we had our churches; -they had their Punch and Judy shows and we had our theatres; they -had their music and we had our own; they had their language and we -clung jealously to ours. Our own differences we did not bring before -the Turkish law, but before our own Church. Neither in sorrow nor in -pleasure did we mingle. Turkey is the only country in the world where -one may travel for months without using the language of the country, -with such great tenacity do the conquered races cling to their own. -Indeed, in order to live comfortably in Constantinople, one must know -Greek, not Turkish.</p> - -<p>After I had played with Turkish girls for two years, had been in -and out of their homes as a friend, and liked them, one morning my -grand-aunt Kalliroë came to our house in a great state of excitement -and worry.</p> - -<p>“Go fetch your father, dear,” she cried to me, “and tell him that it is -of the utmost importance—of the utmost <em>national</em> importance.”</p> - -<p>Aunt Kalliroë was an old lady, and the last of her type I remember. -She was of an old Phanariot family, and to her the traditions of -Phanar—the Greek portion of Constantinople—were as important as her -religious duties. She always dressed in the old fashion of Phanar, -wearing black lace, turban-like, on her head, a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>38</span> dress in one piece, -with ample skirts, and a shawl which she let hang gracefully over her -shoulders. She was tall and imposing, with the sharp features of the -Greeks of Phanar, which perhaps were sharpened during their first two -hundred years under Turkish rule. Even in her old age her eyes were -as piercing and clear as a hawk’s. She carried a cane, and wore silk -mittens made by hand; and whenever she met a Turk in the street she -muttered exorcizing words, as if he were an evil spirit.</p> - -<p>Upon her marriage she had at first gone to live in another community, -where the Greek traditions were not so rigidly adhered to. At once she -decided that her marriage was providential, and that God had meant her -to go to this place to revive the Greek spirit. She undertook her task -with a fervour at once patriotic and religious; and she succeeded in -her mission, for she made these wayward sheep return rigorously to the -fold.</p> - -<p>“Go, child!” she now admonished me impatiently. “Don’t stand there and -stare at me—go fetch your father.”</p> - -<p>I knew my father did not like to be disturbed in the morning, but -I knew also that there was not a human being who did not obey Aunt -Kalliroë, so I went and fetched my father.</p> - -<p>“Nephew!” she cried, without any greeting, as soon as she saw him, “I -will not countenance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>39</span> it—I will not tolerate it! He must be made to -understand the impossibility of his desire.”</p> - -<p>My father sat down by her, took her silk-mittened hand, and kissed the -fingers.</p> - -<p>“Now just tell me who is ‘he.’”</p> - -<p>Aunt Kalliroë looked at my father with disgusted surprise.</p> - -<p>“Nephew, are you living at the North Pole, and not in Turkey? Baky -Pasha, of course.”</p> - -<p>She flung the name as if it were a bomb, and waited for it to explode. -My father took the matter calmly.</p> - -<p>“What has he done?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Nephew, what is the matter with you? Don’t you know?”</p> - -<p>My father shook his head. “Tell me,” he begged.</p> - -<p>“He is proposing to buy the Spathary homestead! -The—Spathary—homestead! Why the man didn’t leave it to the Church I -can’t understand; but I suppose the stroke prevented him from putting -his affairs in order. Well, his only heirs live in Roumania, and they -want to sell the house, not to rent it, and what is more they are -asking a ridiculous price. The house has been vacant for two years; and -now Baky Pasha, the Asiatic brute and murderer, proposes to buy it, to -buy a Christian home, which contains a niche for our saints in every -bed-chamber—a home which has been blessed by our priests,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>40</span> and in -which many a Christian child has been baptized!”</p> - -<p>She threw up her hands in despair.</p> - -<p>“Christian God, are you going to try your children much more? You have -sent these Asiatic hordes to come and conquer us; you have allowed your -great church to be polluted by their profane creed; and now are you -going to try your children further by permitting these beasts to buy -Christian homes to lead their improper lives in?”</p> - -<p>My father waited till her outburst came to an end, and then said -gently: “You know, Aunt Kalliroë, Baky is a very nice fellow, and what -is more he has never murdered anybody, or is likely to.”</p> - -<p>My grand-aunt stared at my father; then asked stiffly: “And what is his -nationality, please?”</p> - -<p>“He is a Turk, of course——”</p> - -<p>“A Turk—and not a murderer?” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. -“Christian God, what are we coming to? Is 1453 so far away that your -children have forgotten it? A Turk—and not a murderer! But I am not -here to discuss the Turks with you, nephew; for are you not a Turkish -official, do you not consort daily with these barbarians, and do they -not even say that you permit your innocent babe to sleep under the -roof where Turks keep their women? Christian God, give grace to your -children.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>41</span> -She joined her hands, and her lips moved in silent prayer.</p> - -<p>“Just tell me what I can do for you?” my father begged.</p> - -<p>“You can speak for me to that Turk, and tell him that the Spathary -homestead is Greek, and that it is in the midst of a Greek community, -where he is not wanted. If he offers so much money that it will be sold -to him, well, it shall be burned to the ground before he moves into it, -that is all.”</p> - -<p>My father opened his cigarette case, and offered her a cigarette, for -all the women of her generation smoked.</p> - -<p>She selected one, and examined it closely. “I am gratified at least to -see that you smoke what is made by your countrymen, and not Turkish -cigarettes.”</p> - -<p>My father laughed. “Why, auntie, there is not a Turkish cigarette-maker -in all Turkey. All the Turkish cigarettes are made by Greeks.”</p> - -<p>Aunt Kalliroë took a puff or two; then, for once, on the defensive, she -observed: “All decent things are made by Greeks—isn’t that so?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>“You ought not to ‘suppose so,’” she cried, again on the offensive; -“you ought to be certain. Christian God, what are we coming to? Is this -the patriotism to be expected of the men who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>42</span> must try to free your -great church from the Mussulman profaning?”</p> - -<p>“Tell me, how do you propose to settle the Spathary matter?” my father -asked, reverting to the less dangerous topic. “If Baky shouldn’t buy -it, how would you keep off other Turks who might wish to buy? Your -community is an old-fashioned one. The younger generation of Greeks is -moving away from it; and only rich Turks will buy the big old Greek -homesteads.”</p> - -<p>“I propose to buy it myself,” she thundered, “and move into it, and -sell my own house to the Bishop of Heraclea, who wants it.”</p> - -<p>“How much does he offer for your house?”</p> - -<p>“Four thousand pounds.”</p> - -<p>“And what do the Spathary heirs ask?”</p> - -<p>“Those Roumanian Greeks have no more idea of value than they have of -patriotism—they are asking five thousand, and what is more I shall -have to pay it.”</p> - -<p>“Then you will sell the home of your husband’s forefathers, and pay a -thousand pounds more for an inferior one?”</p> - -<p>She banged her stick on the floor in exasperation. “I am not driving -a money bargain: I am keeping a Turk from coming among us. Great -Christian God, am I to permit an infidel to pass daily by my door, and -to walk the street where Christian virgins dwell?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>43</span> -“Why doesn’t the Bishop buy the Spathary homestead?” my father -suggested.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t big enough. It hasn’t enough ground. And it’s farther from -the landing. Now, are you going to carry my message to that brutal -Turk?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, certainly. And I know that he will not be willing to buy where he -is not wanted. But I am sorry that you are going to lose your own home, -and pay a thousand pounds over.”</p> - -<p>“Needn’t worry! I have enough to live on, and, as you know, all my -money goes to the Educational Fund, so that I might just as well use a -thousand pounds now to keep a Turk away from Christians.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The next time we visited Aunt Kalliroë she was installed in the -Spathary homestead. Just within the front door stood a small table, -covered with a white linen table-cloth, such as orthodox Greek women -spun themselves for the purpose of putting on the tables where the -ikons were laid—table-cloths always washed by the mistress herself -in a basin kept apart from the other dishes. On the table lay a Greek -ikon, a brass candlestick holding three candles, all burning, and a -brass incense-burner, from which a column of blue smoke was rising, -filling the house with the odour of incense.</p> - -<p>“Why, it isn’t Easter and it isn’t Christmas,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>44</span> I cried. “It isn’t even -a great saint’s day. Why are you burning the candles and the incense, -Aunt Kalliroë?”</p> - -<p>“They have been burning since I moved into this house, and they shall -burn for thrice forty days, to cleanse it from Turkish pollution.”</p> - -<p>“But since Baky Pasha never bought it, and never lived in it——”</p> - -<p>“No, but a Turk has coveted it, and that is enough to pollute a -Christian home.”</p> - -<p>This incident is one of many. It illustrates the feeling which existed -in the hearts of the orthodox Greeks for the people who conquered them -and brought, to the very capital of their former empire, their religion -and their customs. We disliked them and feared them; and our fear -partook both of the real and of the unreal, because we ascribed to them -not only the deeds which they had done, but also a great many that they -were incapable of doing, and had not even considered the possibility of -doing.</p> - -<p>I wonder now what would have been the outcome had the Greeks and the -Turks mingled more together; had they come to know each other and -to recognize each other’s good qualities, and had they been able to -profit by the good which is in each nation. Had the Turks, for example, -borrowed from the light of Greek civilization and culture; and had the -Greeks profited by the calm contemplative spirit, which is the keynote<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>45</span> -of the Turkish character, when not in war. I wonder always what would -have been the outcome, and perhaps that is one more reason why I try to -show what is best in the Turks—to save the gold from the dross, and to -disentangle from the bad what was divine and immortal in them.</p> - -<p>We Greeks have never been able to learn from them and to give something -in exchange; but why let it be lost to the whole world? And since we -call ourselves Christians, why should we not be able to say—when the -sick shall be dead—even as Christ said of the dead dog: “Yes, he is a -dead dog—but his teeth are beautiful.”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>46</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="vii">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<span>IN THE HOLLOW OF ALLAH’S HAND</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">M</span>Y visits to Djimlah continued, and her daring spirit was a continual -delight to me. I had never seen her afraid of anything, and she did -pretty much as she chose. One day when I was visiting her, a tremendous -thunder-storm broke out, and I said to her:</p> - -<p>“Oh, Djimlah, let us go out in your grounds and watch the storm. They -never let me do that at home, and I do so want to find its roots.”</p> - -<p>She did not accept the proposal with alacrity. “It will rain hard in -a minute,” she objected, “and we shall get wet. I hate to look like a -rat—and all the curl will come out of my hair.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you are afraid, like the other women,” I mocked her. “Maybe -if you had a European bed in your home you would go and hide under it.”</p> - -<p>She rose majestically: “Come, we will go and see whether I am afraid.”</p> - -<p>We went out, bent on finding the beginning of the storm. I always -thought that a storm must have a beginning; and from the windows of -my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>47</span> nursery, where I watched the storms, it looked as if it were just -around the corner. In vain, however, on that day did we wander around -many corners, on Djimlah’s grounds: we could find no beginning.</p> - -<p>The storm grew fiercer and fiercer. The whole sky was dark -lead-coloured, and black clouds rushed along as if a tremendous force -were pushing them from behind. The lightning, like a vicious snake, -was zigzagging over the sky. Then there came a bang! and a crash of -thunder. By that time we were far from the house, and on the cliffs. -Djimlah put her arm within mine.</p> - -<p>“I am possessed with fear,” she gasped; “for Allah is wrathful.”</p> - -<p>Her tone was full of awe, and it subdued me. “Let us go back,” I said.</p> - -<p>“No, it will overtake us, and crush us,” Djimlah answered. “I don’t -want to die—not just yet. We must hide somewhere.”</p> - -<p>At this time I was being taught my Bible, and felt that I knew a great -deal about religious subjects.</p> - -<p>“We can’t hide from God,” I explained. “He sees us everywhere—even in -the darkest corner of a dark closet.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to hide from God,” Djimlah corrected, “I want to hide -from the thunder. Come! I know where we can go—to the Hollow of -Allah’s Hand.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>48</span> -Hand in hand we ran as fast as we could against the hard, beating -rain, the fierce wind blowing against us, bending even big trees, -and mercilessly breaking off their branches. With the agility of -children we managed to reach a high cliff partly concealed by pines. -It resembled a gigantic hand, rising up, the fingers curving over and -forming a protected hollow. Into this we crept and sat down, high above -the Sea of Marmora, with miles and miles of horizon in front of us.</p> - -<p>In our little shelter the rain could not get at us, but we were already -wet, and our clothes clung to us uncomfortably.</p> - -<p>“Let us take our coats off,” suggested Djimlah, “for the under layer -must be less wet than the upper one. And also let us take off our shoes -and stockings. We shall be more comfortable without them.”</p> - -<p>We divested ourselves of some of our clothing, and as the hollow where -we sat had sand, we stretched our coats in front of us to dry, curled -our feet under us, and snuggled very close to each other.</p> - -<p>The storm was still raging, but we now looked upon it with the renewed -interest and pleasure derived from our safety.</p> - -<p>“We didn’t find its roots after all,” Djimlah observed. “I believe it -begins at the feet of Allah and ends there, and since we are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>49</span> sitting -in the hollow of his hand it can’t hurt us.”</p> - -<p>It struck me as curious that she should be talking of God so -familiarly. In my ignorance of their religious side, I considered the -Turks as infidels and without religion.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know that God had any hands,” I remarked. “I thought He was -only an eye—at least that is the way He is painted on the ceiling of -our church.”</p> - -<p>Djimlah shook her head. “How can He be only an eye? Have you ever seen -a person being only an eye?”</p> - -<p>“He isn’t a person,” I retorted. “He is God, which is very different -from being a person,” and yet as I spoke the words, something I had -just learned popped into my head, that man was created in the image of -God. Magnanimously I mentioned this to Djimlah.</p> - -<p>“I always knew that,” she agreed, “and I know whom He looks like, too. -He looks like grandfather at his best.”</p> - -<p>“Your grandfather is old,” I protested. “God isn’t an old man.”</p> - -<p>Djimlah pondered this. “Well, He has lived ever since the beginning of -the world—and grandfather is only sixty.” She looked at me puzzled. -“That’s funny. I never thought much about His age.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I put in more perplexed still, “and His<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>50</span> Son, if He had lived, -would have been almost nineteen hundred years old.”</p> - -<p>She turned abruptly, and her face in the little hollow was very near -mine.</p> - -<p>“What son?” she inquired with interest.</p> - -<p>“Jesus Christ, our Lord,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“Your prophet? Why, He wasn’t His Son. Allah never married,” and again -the words flashed into my mind that there was neither giving nor taking -in marriage in heaven. Yet I stood by my orthodoxy.</p> - -<p>“Christ <em>is</em> the Son of God,” I maintained.</p> - -<p>Djimlah, too, stood by her belief. “Allah had no children of the flesh. -Christ was only a prophet—and He was second to Mohammed.”</p> - -<p>A brilliant idea came to me. “You know, Djimlah,” I explained, “I am -not talking of Allah, I am talking of God.”</p> - -<p>“They are all the same,” she asserted. “There is but one Heaven and one -Earth, and one Sun and one Moon. Therefore there is but one God, and -that is Allah, and we are His children.”</p> - -<p>I was staggered by her confident tone. Djimlah with her words had made -of me a Mohammedan and an infidel—something religiously unclean and -unspeakable. And, what is more, she was unconscious of the enormity of -her speech: she was excitedly watching the lightning, now making all -sorts of arabesques on the sky.</p> - -<p>“Watch, darling, watch!” she cried. “I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>51</span> know now what the storm is. It -is fireworks, Allah’s fireworks!”</p> - -<p>“Fireworks—foolishness!” I exclaimed peevishly; for I was sorely hurt -at the idea of her being on equal terms with me before God. “God is not -frivolous—He does not want any fireworks. He is vastly busy watching -the world, and guiding the destinies of the human race.”</p> - -<p>“Why should He watch and guide?” Djimlah said proudly. “He knows -everything from the beginning; for He writes it on the foreheads of -people. My destiny is written here,” she pointed to her forehead, “and -yours is written there.” She tapped my forehead.</p> - -<p>I hated her, and crossly pushed her finger from my forehead.</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t,” I cried, “for He leaves us free to choose whether we -shall be brave or cowardly, whether we shall do good or evil.”</p> - -<p>She laughed derisively. “A nice kind of a father you would make of -Him—taking no more care of us than that. But do stop arguing and watch -the storm. Isn’t it glorious?”</p> - -<p>Indeed the lightning over the Asiatic side of Turkey was wonderful. The -storm had worked its way over there, and the rain had followed, leaving -our side of the coast clear. Right above us a yellowish cloud tore open -and disclosed the sun. Djimlah greeted him with delight. She extended -her little arms up toward him, crying:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>52</span> -“Come out, Sun Effendi, come out! You are so golden and warm, and I am -so cold.”</p> - -<p>She shook her little body and rose, jumping up and down to get warm.</p> - -<p>As if to oblige her the sun’s rays grew stronger and stronger, and -we began to feel better under their warmth. We could hear the storm -growling miles away now, and see only bits of lightning.</p> - -<p>“It’s working its way back to Allah,” said Djimlah, “so let’s go home, -and get dry clothes and something to eat. But I am glad we came out, -for now you know that it has no roots.” She put her arm around me. “I -used to be afraid of the noise,” she confessed sheepishly. “I used to -hide my head in some one’s lap. I never knew it was so beautiful. You -made me see that.”</p> - -<p>This deference pleased me, yet it did not take away the smart from -which I was suffering. Indeed, the calm assertion of Djimlah that we -were all in the same way children of God hurt me more than any abstract -proposition has since been able to. Had she intimated that the Turks -and the Greeks were alike, I could have proved to her by actual facts -that the Greeks were superior to the Turks, because they had attained -to the noblest civilization, the most beautiful architecture, and the -greatest literature in the world; but how was I to prove my position of -superiority before God?</p> - -<p>The afternoon passed in various games, in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>53</span> which I took only a -half-hearted interest. Then came supper and bedtime. I was spending the -night there, and by the time I was to go to bed my smart, instead of -being lessened, had grown tremendously. I undressed silently.</p> - -<p>The old <i>hanoum</i> came in to hear us say our prayers. Up to this -time I had not minded praying with Djimlah to Allah. I was sure it did -not matter, because when I was tucked in bed, I crossed myself three -times, and implored the Virgin Mary to watch over me and over those I -loved. To-night it was different. If I were to show Djimlah that I did -not believe in her words, I must stop praying to her god; so I said:</p> - -<p>“I shall not pray to Allah to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you <em>must</em>,” Djimlah declared. “You wouldn’t like to -disappoint him, would you?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t belong to him,” I asserted passionately. “I don’t belong to -him. I belong to God, so I don’t care whether I disappoint Allah or -not.”</p> - -<p>“Djimlah,” interposed her grandmother, “you must let the little -<i>hanoum</i> do as she likes. You and I can pray alone.”</p> - -<p>Djimlah stood before her grandmother, her face tilted upward, her hands -outstretched, palms upward.</p> - -<p>“Allah, the only true god of heaven and earth, be praised! There is -no other God but God, the great, the wonderful, the just. Allah be -praised!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>54</span> -She kissed her grandmother and me, and the old lady kissed us both, and -put us to bed. No sooner was she out of the room than Djimlah said:</p> - -<p>“Baby mine, I believe the storm has upset you. You have been so quiet -all the afternoon—and now you don’t even pray.”</p> - -<p>“I am upset,” I replied. “But it isn’t the storm—it’s you.”</p> - -<p>She sat up in bed. “Now what have I done to offend you, when you are -under my roof?”</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t under your roof. It was when we were in the open, during the -storm.”</p> - -<p>“That part of the heavenly roof being over grandfather’s land is our -roof,” she corrected me.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t care what you call it, you have offended me.”</p> - -<p>“But, darling,” she cried, “how did I do it? I don’t remember it.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t quite explain it; but, although I have been very fond of you, -I don’t like you to say that you and I are the children of God in the -same way, and——”</p> - -<p>She interrupted me—and it was a pity, too; for at the moment I was -getting it quite clear how she was not my equal before God, and -afterwards I could not quite get it again.</p> - -<p>“But, <i>yavroum</i>, much loved by the stars and the rivers, are we -not Allah’s children, you and I?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>55</span> -“No!” I cried bitterly, “I have nothing to do with Allah. He is a -cruel, beastly god, who tells people to kill—and you <em>know</em> you -have killed thousands of us—and little babies, too!”</p> - -<p>To my surprise I found myself hating the Turks with a hatred I never -thought I could feel since I had come to know them. And I was miserable -because I was in the same bed with Djimlah.</p> - -<p>Her eyes glistened in the semi-darkness. Our little bed faced the -windows, where there were no curtains, and the light undisturbed was -pouring in from the stars above, which we could see twinkling at us.</p> - -<p>“Funny! funny! funny!” she kept saying to herself. “I thought you liked -us—and oh! I do adore you so! I felt as if truly you were my own baby.”</p> - -<p>She had on a night-dress made of light brown cambric, with yellow and -red flowers on it. Her hair was tied at the top of her head with a -yellow ribbon, from which was dangling a charm against the evil eye. It -came over me how unlike a Greek child she was, and how very Turkish.</p> - -<p>“Djimlah!” I cried, “you are not, and you shall not be my equal before -God.”</p> - -<p>She crossed her hands on her breast and became lost in meditation. -After awhile she said:</p> - -<p>“There is no other God but God—and we are all His children. So they -told me and I believe it, don’t you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>56</span> -I shook my head. “There is Allah, and there is God,” I replied. “And I -am a Greek, and you are a Turk—and the Turks are very cruel people.”</p> - -<p>“Have we been cruel to you, all this long time you have come to see us?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I had to admit, “but you are cruel just the same. If you will -read history you will know how cruel you are; for when you took -Constantinople, for days and nights you were killing our people and -burning our homes.” I was ready to weep over our past wrongs, and my -blood was boiling. “I don’t love you any more—and God doesn’t love you -either.”</p> - -<p>Djimlah’s eyes opened wide open. “I don’t understand. Let’s go to -grandmother: she will explain things to us.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want them explained. I shall go home to-morrow, and never, -never, so long as I live, shall I again speak to you, or to any Turkish -child.”</p> - -<p>At this Djimlah began to cry: at first softly, then yelling at the top -of her lungs. This brought not only the old <i>hanoum</i> but a bevy of -the younger ones.</p> - -<p>It took some time to pacify Djimlah, who managed to convey between her -sobs that I, her own baby, “her own flesh and blood,” as she put it, -was no longer coming to see her, because she was a Turkish child and -because Constantinople had been burned.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>57</span> -The old <i>hanoum</i> sent the younger women out of the room, put -Djimlah on the hard sofa by the window and wrapped her in a shawl. Then -she came to me, tucked me in a blanket, and carried me near to Djimlah. -After that she fetched two enormous Turkish delights with nuts in them, -and two glasses of water.</p> - -<p>“Both of you, eat and drink.”</p> - -<p>When this operation was over, she said quietly: “Now tell me all about -it.”</p> - -<p>As well as I could I told her of what Djimlah had said, and of my -feelings on the subject.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to be equal with her before God,” I protested. “It isn’t -right; for she is a Turk, and I am a Greek.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my sweet <i>yavroum</i>, you are all mixed up about just where -you stand before God. At present you stand nowhere, because you are -only babies. As you grow older your place will be determined by your -usefulness in the world, your kindness and gentleness, by the way you -treat your husband’s mother and his other wives, and how healthy and -well brought up his children are. As to your being a Greek and Djimlah -a Turk, that is only geography,” she explained vaguely. “When we shall -die and go to God, we shall be that which we have made of ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“She says that we are wicked and brutal, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>58</span> burned Constantinople, -and killed the people,” Djimlah moaned.</p> - -<p>“That was because Allah willed it. Nothing happens without the will of -Allah, and his word must be carried by the sword. We like you and love -you, and could no more harm you than we could harm Djimlah.” She leaned -over and took me on her lap. “Now, <i>yavroum</i>, remember that Allah -is father to you all, and he loves you equally well; and all you have -to do is to love each other and be good and go to sleep, and that will -please him.”</p> - -<p>She kissed me, and drew Djimlah to us, and made us kiss each other.</p> - -<p>A latent sense of justice made me recognize how good she was; and -although I did not relinquish my nationality as a bit of geography, I -recognized that there was something in what she said. So I kissed the -old <i>hanoum</i>, and kissed Djimlah, and obediently was led away to -bed. Then she sat by us and sang us a little lullaby.</p> - -<p>After she had left us Djimlah put her arms around me and whispered: “Do -you love me again? For I love you just the same, and when we grow up -let us marry the same effendi, and never be separated.”</p> - -<p>I did not go away the next day because Djimlah would not listen to it. -She was afraid lest I should keep to my first intention, and never -return. She wanted to talk over everything<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>59</span> with me, which we did; and -with the help of the old <i>hanoum</i>, her light and her kindness, I -saw things a little better.</p> - -<p>Just as my idea of the ferocity of the Turks in their homes had long -ago vanished, so what they believed and taught God to be appealed to -me; and, although I retained my own idea of the relative importance -of the two races in this world, I could not help feeling that perhaps -the old hanoum was right, and that our position before God was less a -matter of creed and belief than of how we lived our lives.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>60</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="viii">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<span>YILDERIM</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">A</span>S I look back on those years of close intimacy with Turkish children, -and our various discussions and squabbles, I cannot but feel thankful -for opportunities denied most children. And I can see now that a -great deal of the hatred which separates the different creeds and -nationalities is inculcated in our hearts before we are capable of -judging, by those who do their best to teach us brotherly love.</p> - -<p>During the first year of our friendship, Djimlah and I played -mostly alone. It is true that whenever other harems came to visit -Djimlah’s, and brought along girls of our age, we had to accept their -presence—either with alacrity or reluctance, depending on what we -had afoot. There were days when Djimlah and I were about to enact -some chapter of “The Arabian Nights,” and then we little cared to be -disturbed by outsiders; but oriental politeness forced Djimlah to play -the hostess.</p> - -<p>I rarely invited her to my house. First, because my mother positively -objected to Turks;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>61</span> and secondly because I had so little to offer her. -She would have to share my life, as I shared hers, and my life meant -lessons, duties, and discipline; so I preferred to go to her, and on -Saturday nights I usually slept there.</p> - -<p>We were quite happy by ourselves, because we made a very good team. -Though we both liked to be generals, we alternated the generalship. One -time Djimlah led, the next she obeyed orders. Our generalship consisted -in planning what sort of characters we were to be; and I am forced to -confess that on the days of Djimlah’s generalship things moved much -the best. Indeed I had to spend half my time as general in explaining -to her the Greek mythology, in order that she might understand the -characters we were to represent, while on her days I knew “The Arabian -Nights” as well as she.</p> - -<p>Before the year was over, we admitted to our circle a third, little -Chakendé, whose father was a subaltern of Djimlah’s grandfather. -Chakendé’s home was not far from ours, yet we met her first by -accident, and ever so far away from home.</p> - -<p>It was on a hot August evening, when I was spending the night with -Djimlah. The heat was so great that even at seven o’clock the rooms -were yet hot. The old <i>hanoum</i> said it was not necessary for us -to go to bed until it became cool, and we were playing in the garden. -We were up in a tall tree; for I had taught Djimlah to climb—a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>62</span> thing -she took to much more naturally than learning Greek mythology. The tree -was very tall, and its branches hung over the high garden wall which -protected the <i>haremlik</i> from the world’s eyes.</p> - -<p>Presently a little urchin came and stood in the street below. Like a -bird about to sing, he threw his head back, and in a clear, loud voice -half chanted:</p> - -<p>“<i>Bou axan kaïhri kavéshindé, ei karagiuzlar, kim istersin bouyour -sun</i>,” which meant, “This evening at the café of Kairi there is to -be a good show of Punch and Judy, and who wishes to come is welcome.”</p> - -<p>Having delivered his announcement, he walked a block farther on, and -chanted it again. By the time he was out of ear-shot we had the words -letter perfect, and began to chant it ourselves from the top of our -tree. We were so pleased with our accomplishment that we scrambled down -to earth and proceeded to deliver it before each of the groups of women -lying on rugs in the immense garden, waiting for the heat to lessen.</p> - -<p>Then, with the privilege of our age, we penetrated into the -<i>selamlik</i>, the men’s quarters, and proceeded to the dining-room, -where the old pasha, his sons, sons-in-law, and guests were dining. We -mounted on the sofa, and hand in hand burst forth, imitating the street -urchin as best we were able.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>63</span> -The men laughed till the tears came into their eyes; then the old pasha -bade us come to him, and taking one of us on each knee, he asked:</p> - -<p>“So the young <i>hanoums</i> wish to go, do they?”</p> - -<p>“Go where?” we inquired.</p> - -<p>“To the show of Punch and Judy.”</p> - -<p>“Can we?” we cried simultaneously.</p> - -<p>“I believe so,” the grandfather replied.</p> - -<p>“Go now—this minute?”</p> - -<p>The old man nodded.</p> - -<p>It was a case of speechless delight with us. The old pasha turned to -his company. “I am going to take the little <i>hanoums</i> to the show, -and who wishes to come is welcome.”</p> - -<p>We dashed back to the <i>haremlik</i> and made ready in the greatest -excitement. Our excitement was shared by all the women. They came in to -see us made ready, and told us to be sure to remember everything in the -show to repeat to them.</p> - -<p>The show was given in a common garden café, such as the small -bureaucracy and proletariat of Turkish masculinity frequents; but the -Turks are essentially democratic, and our party did not mind this in -the least.</p> - -<p>The limits of the café were indicated by canvas hung on ropes to screen -the show from the unpaying eye. Within were seats at twopence apiece, -and seats at a penny. Djimlah and I were installed in special chairs -at threepence, placed in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>64</span> front of the first row, which the men of our -party occupied—and then the show opened.</p> - -<p>It took place behind a piece of white cheese cloth, lighted by oil -lamps, and a few wooden puppets acted the play. A great deal of -swearing, beating, killing and dying took place in the most picturesque -Turkish. The audience laughed to hysterics. As for Djimlah and me, we -were simply delirious with joy. Nor did our pleasure end with that -evening. We learned a lot of the vernacular of the piece, and the next -day acted it for the delectation of the entire harem, who made us -repeat it several times, Djimlah being half the characters, and I the -other half.</p> - -<p>When I tried to repeat my histrionic success at home—being all the -characters—I saw my father give a glance at my mother, who, not -knowing a word of Turkish, sat unperturbed, while our two men guests -were doing their best to suppress their laughter. As I wanted my mother -to enjoy it too, I began to explain the whole thing to her, but, by one -of those cabalistic signs which existed between my father and myself, -I understood that I had better not explain; and after we were alone my -father said to me:</p> - -<p>“You know mamma does not like Turkish things, and you had better never -explain them to her. As a rule I would rather have you tell them to me -when we are all alone. And I shouldn’t<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>65</span> like you to repeat this piece -again; for, although it may be right for the actors to say all the -things they did, it is better for little girls not to repeat them.”</p> - -<p>“But, father,” I protested, frightfully disappointed, “Djimlah and I -acted it all before her grandmother and the ladies of her household, -and they made us repeat it several times.”</p> - -<p>“That is because they are Turks. We are Greeks, and that makes a very -big difference.”</p> - -<p>It was at this Punch and Judy Show that we met the little girl who was -to become our constant companion. During an intermission her father -came up to salute the old pasha, and brought little Chakendé with him. -Immediately Djimlah’s grandfather ordered an extra chair for the little -girl, and told her to sit down beside us. She was very sweet looking, -about the age of Djimlah. We liked her so much that we asked her where -she lived, and on hearing that it was not far from us, we invited her -to come the next day to Djimlah’s house.</p> - -<p>This she did, and we liked her even better; for she submitted to us -very gracefully. She never wavered in this attitude, but it was far -from being a cowardly submission.</p> - -<p>She was then engaged to be married to a boy in Anatolia, whose -father had been a lifelong friend of her father’s. The engagement -had taken place when Chakendé was an hour old, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>66</span> the lad seven -years old. By blood I considered Chakendé superior to Djimlah; for -Djimlah’s forefathers, for hundreds of years, had been officials, -while Chakendé’s had been warriors. They had been followers of the -great Tartar ruler Timur-Lang, with whose people the Turks had been -in constant warfare for centuries—now one side and then the other -being victorious. It was this Timur-Lang, who, early in the fifteenth -century, defeated the Turks, in the great battle of Angora, and took -Sultan Bayazet captive, and kept him prisoner in a cage till he died.</p> - -<p>Chakendé was very proud of this descent, and although she was now half -full of Turkish blood, yet she clung to her Tartar ancestry, and when -she told me about the battles her eyes lighted up and she was very -pretty.</p> - -<p>The lad to whom she was engaged, and whom she had not yet seen, was -also of the same clan, and she already entertained for him much -affection, and often spoke of him in such terms as, “my noble Bey,” “my -proud betrothed.”</p> - -<p>The more we saw of her the better we liked her, not only because she -submitted to us, but because she fitted so well into all the parts we -gave her to play, and we generally gave her such parts as we did not -ourselves like to do. Whenever there was any fighting to do she was -ordered to do it, because she could give such a terrific yell—the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>67</span> -yell of the Timur-Lang Clan, she said—and became so wild, and made the -fighting seem so real that we liked to watch her. And she was really -brave; for she never minded worms—which made Djimlah and me wriggle -like one.</p> - -<p>Chakendé did not speak with dislike of the Turks to me. She looked upon -them entirely as her people. “We have become one race,” she said. “They -are full of our blood, and we are full of theirs. Besides, we are of -the same faith.”</p> - -<p>I could see, in spite of Djimlah’s affection for me, and the old -<i>hanoum’s</i> kindness and tolerance, and of the politeness of all -the Turks toward us, that they held a Christian to be inferior to -a Mohammedan. They did not say much about it, but I felt that they -considered themselves a superior race, by virtue of their origin -and religion. As I grew older, I no longer entered into national or -religious discussions. I did not even mind their feeling superior, -since I knew that this feeling was all they had, and that the real -superiority lay with us, and if they did not have this mistaken conceit -they would be very sorry for themselves. And, in spite of my kindly -feelings toward them, I was always aware that deep down in my heart -was planted the seed of hatred toward them—a seed which was never to -wither and die, even if it were not to grow very large.</p> - -<p>I wonder if there will ever come a time when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>68</span> little children will be -spared the planting of these seeds, when they will be brought up in -the teaching that there is but one God and one nationality—or that -the God and the nationality of other little children is as good as our -own: that we are all brothers and sisters, linked together by Nature to -carry out her work, and to give to each other the best that is in us? I -wonder whether we shall ever be trained so as not to care whether our -particular nation is big and powerful, but whether every human being is -receiving the chance to develop the best in him, in order that he may -give that best to the rest of the world?</p> - -<p>The bond which existed between Djimlah and Chakendé often gave me food -for thought. For centuries their people fought each other. Then they -amalgamated and made one, loved each other, and shared each other’s -destiny. My people had fought their people, and they had conquered -us—yet there was no amalgamation. My civilization stood on one side, -and theirs on the other, and in that dividing line stood Christ and -Mohammed, insurmountable barriers. I loved Djimlah, I loved Chakendé; -but, if any question arose, I was fore-most a Greek, and they were -Turks. They were Turks having the upper hand over us—a hand armed with -a scourge. And if they kept that hand behind their back, and I could -not see it, I knew that it held the whip, and that at times they used -it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>69</span> both heavily and unjustly. And I felt that my race must watch its -opportunity to get hold of that whip.</p> - -<p>The arrival of Chakendé, and later of Nashan and Semmaya, brought into -my friendship with Djimlah a feeling which did not exist before. It is -true that, on the first day we met, Djimlah and I almost fought over -the bravery of our respective nations, and her assumption of equality -before God had almost ended our friendship; yet never by word or sign -did she do anything to rouse our racial antagonism. But when the two of -us grew into a group, and of that group I remained the only Greek, they -sometimes forgot, and spoke unguardedly.</p> - -<p>One day, for example, when Djimlah’s grandfather had given each of us -some money to spend, we were waiting for the afternoon vendor to pass -in order to buy candy. We waited for a long time—unendurably long, we -thought—before the stillness of the afternoon vibrated with the words:</p> - -<p>“<i>Seker, sekerji!</i>”</p> - -<p>We rushed to the door, pennies in hand, and stamped impatiently for the -white-clad figure to come near. Then Chakendé exclaimed peevishly:</p> - -<p>“Oh, it isn’t Ali. It’s the Christian dog. Let’s not buy of him—let’s -wait for Ali.”</p> - -<p>In an instant I was transformed. I was wholly the child of my uncle, -wearing the Turkish yoke. I got hold of Chakendé’s two long braids, -and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>70</span> pulled and kicked—for when it came to real, not make-believe, -fighting I was more than her equal.</p> - -<p>Djimlah’s courtesy and tact alone saved the situation. She immediately -called to the Christian <i>sekerji</i>, and told us she was going to -treat us with all her pennies. Moreover, she addressed herself most -politely to the vendor, approved of his wares, and even praised his -complexion to him.</p> - -<p>Occurrences similar to this arose from time to time. If not often, -still they did arise, and they served as water and air and sunshine -to the little seed planted years before. I used to become so angry, -and to strike them so hard and so quickly that they nicknamed me -“<i>yilderim</i>,” which means thunder-storm.</p> - -<p>Djimlah had a little boy cousin, Mechmet, who lived a short distance -from her, and who sometimes came to play with her. He was nice -and generous, and gave us ungrudgingly of whatever he had. He was -particularly nice to me, and I liked him because he had large blue eyes -and light golden hair.</p> - -<p>One day when we were playing together he said to me: “I like you ever -so much, and when we grow up we can be married.”</p> - -<p>I shook my head: “That can’t be, -<a name="because" id="because"></a><ins title="Original has 'bcause'">because</ins> -you are a Turk and I am a Greek.”</p> - -<p>“That doesn’t matter. I shall make you my wife just the same,” he -answered confidently.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>71</span> -From a remote past there arose memories in me, memories perhaps -acquired through reading, or lived in former existences; and pictures -came before me of Greek parents weeping because a little girl was born -to them—a little girl who, if she grew up to be pretty, would be -mercilessly snatched from them and taken to a Turkish <i>selamlik</i>. -And as picture succeeded picture, I became again entirely the child of -my uncle, with a hatred for the Turks as ungovernable as it seemed holy.</p> - -<p>Wild now, like a fierce little brute, I struck Mechmet, and struck and -struck again; and at the sight of the blood flowing from his nose an -exaltation possessed me. I was a girl, I could not carry arms—but with -my own hands I could kill a Turkish boy, and be able to say to my uncle -when we met again in the other world: “Uncle, girl though I am, I have -killed a Turk!”</p> - -<p>Djimlah, after vainly imploring us to stop fighting, ran to the cistern -and drew a bucket of cold water. In our battle we had fallen down, and -Djimlah drenched us with water, and the icy shower stopped our battle.</p> - -<p>In our room she was very severe with me. “Baby mine, I believe -sometimes you are mad! Why, you ought only to be glad if a boy says he -will marry you. What are girls for, but to be given to men and to bear -them children?”</p> - -<p>“Did I kill him?” I asked anxiously.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>72</span> -She thought I was frightened, and came over and smoothed my hair. “Of -course you didn’t kill him; but he is much the worse for the beating -you gave him.”</p> - -<p>Then I wept bitterly in utter contempt for myself at having failed -in such a small task as killing just a little Turkish boy. Years -afterwards, when I accidentally found myself in the midst of the -Armenian massacres, I could appreciate probably better than most -spectators the feeling of racial antipathy which gloried in the -shedding of blood.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>73</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="ix">CHAPTER IX<br /> -<span>I AM REMINDED OF MY SONS AGAIN</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE little girl who made the fourth of our group was Nashan, whom I met -under peculiar circumstances.</p> - -<p>My father was in the habit of taking me with him whenever he went for -a long walk. Generally other men went with us, and their conversation -consisted of politics, a subject which delighted me especially, though -I could but half understand it.</p> - -<p>On one such day, we were walking on the St Nicholas Road, which was -long and wide, with the hills on one side, scattered cypress trees -and the sea on the other. The sun was setting, the heat of the day -was calming; and the Sea of Marmora, roused by the breeze, was -<a name="rhythmically" id="rhythmically"></a><ins title="Original has 'rythmically'">rhythmically</ins> -lapping the shore, and adding freshness to -the hour.</p> - -<p>My father as usual was discussing politics with another Greek, and I, -my hoop over my shoulder, was holding fast to one of his long fingers, -while my little feet heroically tried to keep step with the big feet -beside them.</p> - -<p>At a turn in the road we came upon a group<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>74</span> of Turks, preceded by a -little girl, seated astride a richly caparisoned donkey whose head -was covered with blue beads. She herself fairly outshone the donkey -in gorgeousness. I knew her by sight, as children know each other, -and she always aroused the liveliest interest in me on account of her -costumes. I never wore any thing myself except simple white linen, with -an English sailor hat, my sole gold adornment the name of her majesty’s -dreadnought on its ribbon.</p> - -<p>The first time I encountered her, I had almost yelled at her, thinking -she was dressed up for fun, but the calm dignity with which she had -worn her ridiculous attire had convinced me that these were indeed her -usual clothes.</p> - -<p>To-day she had on a red velvet gown, trimmed with gold lace, and made -in the latest Parisian fashion for grown-up women. Her silk-mittened -hands, bejewelled with rings and bracelets, held a crop with a golden -head, from which floated yards and yards of pale blue ribbon. On her -head perched a pink silk hat, adorned with large white ostrich plumes.</p> - -<p>Quite in contrast to all this, a lock of hair hung down the middle -of her forehead, to which were tied pieces of -<a name="garlic" id="garlic"></a><ins title="Original has 'garlick'">garlic</ins> -and various other charms to ward off the evil eye.</p> - -<p>The men of her group saluted the men of mine. The little girl eyed me, -and I frankly stared at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>75</span> her. -When the men’s <i>temenas</i> were ended, she piped up:</p> - -<p>“Father, this is the little girl I was telling you of—the one that -always dresses in sheeting.”</p> - -<p>To think of a person dressed as she was criticizing <em>my</em> clothes. -I rose on the points of my little white shoes, and extended an accusing -finger at her:</p> - -<p>“And you are dressed like a <i>saltimbanque</i>!” I said. A -circus-rider was the only person with whom I felt I could properly -compare her.</p> - -<p>“Oh! it is not true,” the little girl wailed. “I am dressed like a -great lady.”</p> - -<p>The pasha, her father, smiled at my father. “<i>Zarar yok -Effedim!</i> They will some day be women.”</p> - -<p>My father saluted, and apologized for me, and we went on our way. A -few minutes later, although I knew it had not been his intention, we -mounted the stone steps which led to a rustic, open-air café.</p> - -<p>He chose a table apart from the others, and gave an order to the -waiter. He said no word either to his companion or to me, but I knew -that he was worried. After the waiter had filled his order and gone, he -spoke:</p> - -<p>“My daughter, you have just insulted that child.”</p> - -<p>“But, father,” I protested, “she insulted me first.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>76</span> -“She did not. Are you not dressed in the material of which sheets are -made?”</p> - -<p>“And is she not dressed like a <i>saltimbanque</i>?” I argued.</p> - -<p>“That is an insult; for she thinks she is correctly dressed. Moreover, -my child, we are the conquered race, and they are the masters here. So -long as we <em>are</em> the conquered race we must accept insults, but we -are not in a position to return them. When you become a woman, teach -this bitter truth to your sons, and may be some day we shall no longer -need to accept insults.”</p> - -<p>This was the first time my father had referred to my sons and what I -ought to teach them, since the day he had asked me not to think about -them but to get well and strong. He remained silent for some time after -this, and so did his companion. When we had finished our refreshments -my father rose.</p> - -<p>“We had better go home now. I fear that something may come of this.”</p> - -<p>“I fear so, too,” the other man said.</p> - -<p>The first thing my father asked, at home, was whether a message had -come from Saad Pasha.</p> - -<p>None had.</p> - -<p>He sent me to my room without my customary kiss, and a vague terror -brooded over me during the whole restless night.</p> - -<p>The next morning when I went to my father’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>77</span> study and wished him -good morning, he only nodded to me, and kept on reading his paper. I -retreated to the window, where I occupied myself with breathing on the -panes and tracing figures on them with the point of my forefinger. It -was only a pretence of occupation, and I was alert for every movement -of my father’s, hoping he would relent and make friends again.</p> - -<p>Presently the door of our garden opened, and admitted a Turkish slave, -followed by another, carrying a much beribboned and beflowered basket -on his head. I greatly wished to impart this news to my father; but -glancing at him I decided that if I wished to remain in the room I had -better stay quiet.</p> - -<p>But what could be in the basket? I might have gone to inquire, except -that I feared if I left the study its doors might close behind me. -Besides, if the basket were for my father it would be presently brought -in; perhaps I should be permitted to open it, and— From experience I -knew that such baskets often contained the sweetest of sweets. So I -waited quietly.</p> - -<p>The door opened. Instead of a basket, my mother entered, a perplexed -frown on her forehead, a letter in her hand.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” my father asked, rising.</p> - -<p>“Here is a letter which came with a basket from Saad Pasha. I cannot -read it. It is in Turkish.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>78</span> -My father took the letter and read it, and as he did so an expression -of relief came into his face.</p> - -<p>“His wife invites you to go to her at once.”</p> - -<p>“What!” my mother cried, “I go to her? <em>I!</em> And pray why?”</p> - -<p>My father pointed to me. “This is the why,” and in a few words he -related the incident of the previous evening.</p> - -<p>“I will not go!” My mother stamped her foot. “I have never crossed a -Turk’s threshold, and I hope to die without doing so.”</p> - -<p>My father walked up and down the room twice. At length he said slowly:</p> - -<p>“There is the choice of crossing this Turkish threshold—because you -are bidden to—or all of us may have to cross the frontier, leaving -home and comfort behind us. Saad Pasha is a powerful man—at the -present moment the favourite in the palace—and our child has insulted -his.”</p> - -<p>Both my parents remained silent for a minute, and my childish heart -burned with hatred for these Turks, who were our masters. It seemed as -if I could never live a month without having to hate them anew.</p> - -<p>“I cannot speak their dreadful language,” my mother protested, half -yielding.</p> - -<p>“Take this child with you,” my father said, pointing again at me. It -was dreadful to be called “this child.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>79</span> -Half an hour later I was driving by my mother’s side to the -<i>koniak</i> of the powerful pasha.</p> - -<p>My mother had said the truth. She had never crossed the threshold of a -<i>haremlik</i>; and to her all Turks, be they men, women or children, -were pestiferous beings. She hated them as loyally and as fervently as -she worshipped her Christian God, and adored her own flag. She was a -Greek of the old blood, who could believe nothing good of those who, -four hundred years before, had conquered her people, and beheaded her -patriarch.</p> - -<p>And now, because of her daughter’s misbehaviour, she was forced to obey -the summons of a Turkish woman. It was cruel and humiliating, and, -child though I was, I felt this.</p> - -<p>The large doors of the <i>koniak</i> were thrown open, as soon as our -carriage stopped before them. The immense hall within was filled with -women, in many coloured garments and beflowered head-dresses. And, -as they salaamed to the floor, they looked like huge flowers bending -before the wind. A number of times they rose and fell, rhythmically. -Then a lovely lady, in the old Anatolian costume, advanced and greeted -us.</p> - -<p>There is no language in the world which lends itself so prettily -to yards and yards of welcoming words as Turkish. I translated the -phrases, full of perfume and flowers, which formed such a harmony with -the ladies and the home we were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>80</span> in, until even my mother was touched -by the pomp with which we were received; and the words full of exotic -charm and courtesy did much to assuage her bitterness.</p> - -<p>I could see that she was even beginning to take an interest in this -life so entirely new to her. When the Turkish lady went on to say -that she was a stranger in this land; that she had come from far-away -Anatolia because her Lord-Master and Giver of Life was now near the -Shadow of Allah on Earth, and that she wished guidance, my mother -relented considerably. She had expected to be treated <i>de haut en -bas</i>: instead she was received not only as an equal, but as one -possessing superior knowledge.</p> - -<p>With the same pomp and ceremony we were escorted upstairs, where we -were served with sweetmeats and coffee; and again sweetmeats and -sorbets. Then water was poured from brass pitchers into brass bowls; we -rinsed our hands and wiped them on embroidered napkins.</p> - -<p>The sweet-faced lady spoke again, and I translated.</p> - -<p>She wished to know whether her little Nashan was dressed like a great -lady, or like—whatever the word was.</p> - -<p>“My mother has never seen Nashan,” I volunteered.</p> - -<p>Thereupon Nashan was brought in, clad in a pale green satin gown, -low-necked and short-sleeved,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>81</span> in perfect fashion for a European lady -going to a ball.</p> - -<p>My mother surveyed her doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“Is she dressed like a great lady?” the <i>hanoum</i> asked.</p> - -<p>My mother pronounced her dressed like a lady.</p> - -<p>The <i>hanoum</i> scrutinized my mother’s countenance.</p> - -<p>“Ask your mother why she does not dress you the same way?” she said.</p> - -<p>The reply was that I was too little for such a gown.</p> - -<p>“How old are you?” the <i>hanoum</i> inquired.</p> - -<p>“I am nine”—and I should have added some remarks of my own about -Nashan’s dress, had not the memory of the results of recent -observations of mine been still too fresh.</p> - -<p>“My little Nashan is eleven. Ask your mother whether she will dress you -like my Nashan the year after next.”</p> - -<p>“No,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“Why not? Is it because you have not so much money as we have, and -because your father is not so powerful as my lord?”</p> - -<p>That was not the reason.</p> - -<p>Again the <i>hanoum</i> scrutinized my mother, from her hat to her -boots, and back again.</p> - -<p>“Why is your mother dressed so sombrely? Is she a sad woman, or is her -master a stingy man?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>82</span> -In very polite words my mother conveyed to her that European women did -not wear gaudy clothes in the streets. And little by little, with the -help of a child’s interpretation, the woman from the remote district -of Anatolia comprehended that her child was not dressed as a well-bred -European child would be.</p> - -<p>Tears of mortification came into her eyes.</p> - -<p>“To think,” she wailed, “that I, who love my only baby so dearly and -who have made for her a gown for every day of the month, should only -have contrived to make her ridiculous!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mother!” cried Nashan, “am I then dressed like a -<i>saltimbanque</i>, and not like a great lady?”</p> - -<p>The mother folded her little one in her arms, kissed away her tears, -and tried to comfort her.</p> - -<p>“My little Rose Petal, thy mother has made a mistake. She begs thee, -Seed of Glorious Roses, to forgive her. Say so, my little one; say that -thou forgivest thy ignorant mother.”</p> - -<p>“I love my mother!” the child sobbed. “I love my mother!”</p> - -<p>“Then dry thy tears, my little Petal; for the lady here will help us.”</p> - -<p>With a humility perhaps only to be found among Turkish women, a -humility which yet was self-respecting and proud, the wife of the -powerful pasha placed herself entirely under the guidance of the wife -of a Greek.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>83</span> -This was the beginning of my friendship with Nashan. Thenceforth she -dressed in “sheeting,” and was educated in a scrupulously European -manner. Masters were engaged to teach her French and music. The -<i>hanoum</i> accepted every bit of advice my mother gave her, save -one: she would not consent to a resident foreign governess.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, in her humble yet determined way, “I will not give -up my child entirely to a foreign woman. Her character belongs to -<em>me</em>, and by me alone it shall be moulded.”</p> - -<p>Naturally I saw a great deal of Nashan, and we came to love each other -dearly. She had brought from Anatolia, along with her adorable little -face, something of the character of her untamed mountains. As we grew -from year to year, we used, child-like, to talk of many things we -little understood; and once she said to me: “I am sure of the existence -of Allah; for at times he manifests himself to me so quickly that I -believe he lives within me.”</p> - -<p>At such moments as these I believe the real Nashan was uppermost. -Usually, I am sorry to say, she more and more lost her native -simplicity, with her acquirement of European culture, and more openly -despised the customs of her own country.</p> - -<p>Her early velvet and satin gowns were given us to play with; and many a -rainy day we spent in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>84</span> adorning ourselves with her former gorgeousness. -Then Nashan would stand before me and humorously demand:</p> - -<p>“Am I a great lady, or am I a <i>saltimbanque</i>?”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>85</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="x">CHAPTER X<br /> -<span>THE GARDEN GODDESS</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was natural that I should bring Nashan to Djimlah, and that she -should become the fourth of our group. Mechmet and his brother Shaadi -also often came to spend the day at Djimlah’s, and joined in our games.</p> - -<p>Djimlah’s grandmother was desirous that we four girls should have -some of our lessons together, and my mother, from the distance, could -only acquiesce in this. Thus I saw them daily; and the more frequent -contact brought forth more frequent causes for warfare between us. -When they were all together, the fact of their being Turks became more -emphasized, and within me there burned the desire to dazzle them with -what the Greeks really had been in the world.</p> - -<p>The way to do this came to me one night when sleep deserted me, and -in its stead Inspiration sat by my pillow. Since they knew absolutely -nothing of Greek History, I would tell it to them as a story. -Feverishly I sketched it all out in my head. I would begin at the -very beginning, showing them how Prometheus stole the divine fire to -create the Greeks. The Turks should<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>86</span> come into the tale under the name -of Pelasgians—yes, I would call them Pelasgians, while the Greeks -should be called Prometheans. I could tell a story very well, at the -time, and I hugged my pillow fervently at the thought of my three -companions breathlessly listening to the recital of the great deeds of -the Greeks—and loathing the Turks for all their misdoings. And when -I had them properly moved, I should explain to them that this was not -a story, but real history: that the Prometheans were the Greeks, and -the Pelasgians were the Turks. And I should conclude: “You may call -yourselves the proud Osmanlis, and you may think that you are the -chosen people of Allah, but this is what history thinks of you—that’s -what you are to the world.”</p> - -<p>I was so excited to begin my work that I slept no more that night. Yet -on the very next day I learned that my most inconsiderate parents had -decided to go for a few months to the Bosphorus. It always struck me -as the worst side of grown-ups that they never considered the plans of -the little ones. They will teach you, “It is not polite to interrupt -papa or mamma with your affairs when they are busy”—while papa or -mamma are only talking silly, uninteresting stuff which might very -well be interrupted. Yet how often, when I was intently watching a -cloud teaching me his art of transforming himself from a chariot to -an immense forest or from a tiger to a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>87</span> bevy of birds, mamma would -interrupt without even apologizing; and were I to say to her, “Just -wait a minute,” as mamma thousands of times said to me, I should be -called a rude little girl.</p> - -<p>Thus it happened that, when my life’s work was unfolded before my eyes -by an inspiration, I was snatched away to that outlandish place, the -Bosphorus.</p> - -<p>And there, about a quarter of a mile from the house we took, with -nothing between us but fields and gardens, lived a Turkish general and -his family. I do not recall his name, for every one spoke of him as the -Damlaly Pasha, which means “the pasha who has had a stroke.”</p> - -<p>His was a modest house, surrounded by a garden, the wall of which had -tumbled down in one place, offering a possible means of ingress to a -small child of my activity. Some day I meant to avoid the vigilance of -the elders and to penetrate into the heart of that unknown garden; for -the opening was for ever beckoning to me. But, though I had not yet -been able to do so, I had already managed to peep into it; and had seen -a young woman who seemed to me the embodiment of a fairy queen picking -flowers there.</p> - -<p>Every Friday morning the general went over to Constantinople, to ride -in the Sultan’s procession, as I afterwards learned. He wore his best -uniform, and his breast was covered with medals. A eunuch and a little -girl always accompanied<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>88</span> him to the landing, and their way led past our -house.</p> - -<p>Being lonely at the time, I took a great interest in the happenings -on our road, and I learned to wait every Friday morning for the queer -trio: the gorgeously uniformed and bemedalled old general, painfully -trailing his left foot; the old, bent eunuch, in a frock coat as old -and worn-out as himself, and the fresh little girl, with all her skirts -stuffed into a tight-fitting pair of trousers.</p> - -<p>I thought her quite pretty, in spite of the ridiculous trousers. Her -hair was light, as is the colour of ripe wheat, and her eyes were as -blue as if God had made them from a bit of his blue sky. I nicknamed -her Sitanthy, and used to make up stories about her, and was always -wondering what her relationship was to the old general. Once I heard -her call him father, but I felt sure he could not be that. To my way -of thinking a father was a tall, slim, good-looking person. The other -species of men were either uncles, or grandfathers, or, worse yet, bore -no relationship to little girls, but were just so many stray men.</p> - -<p>I never contemplated talking to the little girl—she was to me almost a -fictitious character, like one of the people I knew and consorted with -in our Greek Mythology—until fate brought us together.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>89</span> -One wonderful, mysterious, summer evening thousands of fireflies were -peopling the atmosphere. I had never seen so many before, and wanted to -stay up and play with them. But the tyranny of the elders decreed that -I should be put to bed at the customary hour, as if it had been any -ordinary night.</p> - -<p>I believe few of the elders retain the powers of childhood—which see -far beyond the confines of the seen world—else why should they have -insisted on my leaving this romantic world outside, which was beckoning -me to join its revels?</p> - -<p>However, they did put me to bed, and as usual told me to shut my eyes -tight and go to sleep. But shutting one’s eyes does not make one go -to sleep. On the contrary one sees many more things than before. The -beauty of the night had intoxicated me. I was a part of nature, and she -was claiming me for her own. There was a pond in our garden where frogs -lived. They, too, must have felt the power of to-night’s beauty; for -they were far more loquacious than usual. I listened to them for a long -time—and presently I understood that they were talking to me.</p> - -<p>“Get up, little girl!” they were saying. “Get up, little girl!”</p> - -<p>For hours and hours they kept this up, now softly and insinuatingly, -then swelling into loud command.</p> - -<p>They ended by persuading me. I crept from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>90</span> my bed, put on my slippers, -threw over my nighty the pink little wrap with its silk-lined hood, and -went out on the balcony outside of my window. From there I slid down -one of the columns, and, before I knew it, was on the ground.</p> - -<p>Supreme moment of happiness! I was free—free to revel in the wonders -of the night, free from vigilance and from orders. Clasping my wrap -closely around me, I first went to the pond, and told the frogs that I -was up.</p> - -<p>“That’s right, little girl!” they answered me. “That’s right, little -girl!” But that was all they had to say to me, so I left them and gave -myself up to the deliciousness of being out of bed at an hour when all -well-regulated children should be in bed—according to the laws of the -elders.</p> - -<p>The fireflies laughed and danced with me, twinkling in and out of -the darkness. They seemed like thousands of little stars, who, tired -of contemplating the world from heights above, like me had escaped -vigilance, and, deserting the firmament, had slid down to the earth to -play.</p> - -<p>What a lot they had to say to me, these cheerful little sparks. On and -on we wandered together. They always surrounded me—almost lifting -me from the ground; and occasionally I succeeded in catching one and -sticking it on my forehead, till I had quite a cluster, so close -together that I must have looked like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>91</span> a cyclops, with one fiery eye in -the middle of my forehead.</p> - -<p>We came into the fields where the daisies and poppies were sleeping -together, and passing through still another field, we arrived at the -place where the Damlaly Pasha lived. Then I knew that the opening in -the wall and the goddess had invited me to call on them that night.</p> - -<p>Climbing over the opening was not an easy task, for my bedroom slippers -were soft, and the stones of the tumble-down wall were hard and sharp; -but I accomplished it. As for the fireflies, they had no difficulty: -they flew over the wall as if it were not there at all.</p> - -<p>Inside, the sense of real exploration came over me. The garden was -old-fashioned, where the flowers grew in disorder, as they generally -do in Turkish gardens. How delicious was the perfume of the flowers. -I felt sure that, like me and the fireflies and the frogs and the -nightingales, the flowers here were awake—and not like the daisies and -poppies, who are sleepy-heads. But in vain did I look for my goddess. -She was not there.</p> - -<p>Presently another little form came moving along through the bushes. We -met in the shrubbery. I pushed aside the branches, put my face through, -and in Turkish I said:</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Sitanthy!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>92</span> -“Hullo!” she answered, “What did you call me?”</p> - -<p>“Sitanthy,” I replied. “That’s your name. I gave it to you. It is the -blue flower in the wheat—because you look like one of them.”</p> - -<p>“That’s pretty,” Sitanthy commented. “And what is <em>your</em> name?”</p> - -<p>I told her.</p> - -<p>“I know who you are,” she went on. “You are the solitary child, who -lives on the road to the landing, and who never plays.”</p> - -<p>“I do play!” I cried.</p> - -<p>“How can you? You are always sitting still.”</p> - -<p>“I play most when I am most still.”</p> - -<p>“Yours must be a funny game,” she observed “for when <em>I</em> sit still -I go to sleep.”</p> - -<p>Across the bushes we leaned and kissed each other. With her fingers -Sitanthy took hold of my cheeks and told me that she loved me.</p> - -<p>“I have loved <em>you</em> ever since we came to live here,” I said, -“because you are so pretty.”</p> - -<p>“Are you pretty?” she inquired politely. “You have the largest eyes of -anyone in the world.”</p> - -<p>“They are not really so large,” I corrected her. “They only look so, -because my face is little. I know it for a fact, because one day I -measured with a thread those of my father, and they were every bit as -large as mine.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>93</span> -We linked arms and walked about the garden. She still wore her -ridiculous trousers.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t they put you to bed?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“No. I didn’t want to go—and I don’t go unless I want to.”</p> - -<p>I stared at her in amazement. “And do the elders let you?”</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>“They put <em>me</em> to bed every night—at the same hour,” I confided, -with great pity for myself.</p> - -<p>She put her arm around me and kissed me, and though she said nothing I -knew that she felt the tragedy of this.</p> - -<p>We plucked dew-soaked flowers together, talking all the time of those -things which belong to childhood alone; for children are nearer to the -world from which they have come, and when they meet, they naturally -talk of the things they remember, which the elders have forgotten—and -because they have forgotten, call unreal.</p> - -<p>We caught some fireflies for her forehead, too, and thus we were two -cyclopses instead of one. I had to tell Sitanthy about them, for she -being a Turkish child knew nothing of them. Then I inquired about the -goddess of the garden; but Sitanthy only said that there was no young -woman in their house except their <i>halaïc</i>.</p> - -<p>When I was ready to go, she let me out of the gate, and I started back -to my home. I was a little cold. A heavy dew was falling, and my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>94</span> -nighty was wet, and so was the flimsy pink wrapper. As for my slippers, -they became so soaked through that I discarded them in one of the -fields.</p> - -<p>I meant to return to my bed as quietly as I had come out, but on -reaching our garden I knew that my escape had been discovered. A light -was burning in my bedroom, and other lights were moving to and fro in -the house, and there were lanterns in the garden.</p> - -<p>I walked up to the nearest lantern. Happily it was in the hands of my -father.</p> - -<p>To scare him I imitated the croak of a frog.</p> - -<p>“Oh, baby!” he cried. “Oh, baby, where have you been?”</p> - -<p>I confided my whole adventure to him, because of all the elders I have -known—except my brother, who was one of the immortals of Olympus—my -father seemed, if not to remember, at least to understand.</p> - -<p>That night I was not scolded. The wet clothes were replaced by warm -ones, and I was only made to drink a disagreeable <i>tisane</i>. And -since, in spite of the <i>tisane</i>, I did catch cold and for two days -was feverish, I escaped even a remonstrance.</p> - -<p>Yet my escapade had one lasting good result. It led to my friendship -with Sitanthy—and finally to the goddess of the garden.</p> - -<p>On the following Friday, although I was still<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>95</span> not quite well, I begged -to be permitted to sit by the window.</p> - -<p>The trio for whom I was waiting came, but sooner than their customary -hour. From afar Sitanthy waved her little hand to me. Then instead -of passing by, as usual, all three came up to our house, and the old -general ceremoniously delivered a letter addressed to my father, who at -once came out, and accompanied them to the gate.</p> - -<p>When my father returned, he said that on her way back the little girl -was to stay and play with me.</p> - -<p>On this first visit, Sitanthy told me her history. She was the only -child of the only son of the old general and his <i>hanoum</i>. Her -father was killed in one of those wars, unrecorded by history, which -the sultan wages against his unruly subjects in remote, unmapped -corners of Asia. But, if these wars are not recorded by history, their -record is written with indelible ink in the hearts of the Turkish -women; for every one means the loss of brothers, fathers, husbands, and -sons, whose deaths are reported, if at all, long after they have been -laid away in unknown graves.</p> - -<p>Sitanthy’s mother died from a broken heart, and thus my little friend -was all that remained to the old couple.</p> - -<p>“I wear those trousers,” she explained, “to afford pleasure to my -grandparents. You see<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>96</span> I’m only a girl, and it must break their hearts -to have a boyless home, so I saved all my pennies and bought these -trousers to give the household an air of possessing a boy.”</p> - -<p>I hugged her, and never again thought of her trousers as ridiculous.</p> - -<p>In the simple way Turkish children have, she also told me the -affairs of her home. The household consisted of her grandfather, her -grandmother, the old eunuch, a cook older than the eunuch, and a young -slave—the <i>halaïc</i>.</p> - -<p>A <i>halaïc</i> is a slave who is plain, and consequently cannot be -given in marriage to a rich husband; nor is she clever enough to become -a teacher; nor does she possess that grace and suppleness which might -make of her a dancing girl. Having thus neither mental nor physical -attributes, she becomes a menial.</p> - -<p>She does all the coarsest work; and after seven years of servitude, if -she belongs to a generous master, she is either freed, with a minimum -dowry of two hundred and fifty dollars, or is given in marriage, with -a larger dowry, to one of the men servants in the retinue of the -household.</p> - -<p>It is said that sometimes, if her master be either poor or cruel, he -sells her before her time expires, and thus she passes from house -to house—a beast of burden, because Allah has given her neither -cleverness, nor bodily beauty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>97</span> nor grace; and men cheat her of her -freedom and youth.</p> - -<p>Thus, knowing exactly what a <i>halaïc</i> was, I laughed at Sitanthy -when, in answer to my question about the goddess of her garden, she -replied: “It must be our <i>halaïc</i>—she is the only young woman in -our household.”</p> - -<p>After I was entirely well again, I was permitted to go with Sitanthy -to play in her garden. I went with great expectations; for I hoped -that by daylight and with all the afternoon before me I could find out -something about my goddess.</p> - -<p>On entering the garden, the first person I encountered was she—and -what I saw stabbed my heart. My goddess was harnessed to the -old-fashioned wooden water-wheel at the well, and with eyes shut was -walking round and round it, drawing up water.</p> - -<p>We had a similar arrangement in our own garden, but it was a -blindfolded donkey who did the work—not a goddess.</p> - -<p>She was dressed in a loose, many-coloured bright garment, held in at -the waist by a wide brass belt. A yellow veil was thrown over her head; -her bare arms were crossed on her breast, and bathed in the light of -that summer day, with eyes closed, she was doing this dreadful work, -without apparent shame, without mortification.</p> - -<p>On the contrary, she seemed unaware of the degradation of her work. She -could not have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>98</span> looked more majestic or more beautiful had she been a -queen in the act of receiving a foreign ambassador. But I, who loved -her and called her my goddess, felt the shame and tears of rage sprang -to my eyes.</p> - -<p>Saturated as I was with Greek mythology, there came to my mind the -thought of Danaë, daughter of Acrisius, King of Argos, and mother of -Perseus. Because she refused to listen to the love-words of the king -who received her, after her father exiled her, she was condemned to -similar work.</p> - -<p>A great excitement seized me. I thought that the story I had read did -not belong to the past—that it was being enacted in that very place, -at that very hour, and before my own eyes. Nay, more! <em>I</em> was a -Greek runner, ordered by the gods of Olympus to announce to her the -return of her son.</p> - -<p>Possessed by the conviction, I rushed up to her, and stopped her in her -work.</p> - -<p>“Hail to thee, Danaë!” I cried. “Perseus, your son, is coming, bringing -the head of Medusa, and with it he will turn into stone those who are -ill-treating you.”</p> - -<p>She opened her eyes and gazed at me with a puzzled expression.</p> - -<p>I repeated my words, my enthusiasm a trifle damped by her reception of -them.</p> - -<p>When I had explained everything to her, and had given her every detail -of Danaë’s life and her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>99</span> son’s achievements a smile broke over her -face. Of all our visible signs, the soul comes nearest to speaking in -the smile. When the <i>halaïc</i> smiled it was as if God were peeping -through the clouds.</p> - -<p>“You adorable baby! You adorable Greek baby!” she laughed.</p> - -<p>She unharnessed herself, and took me in her arms, holding me there as -a nest must hold a little bird. How comfy, how motherly her arms were. -She sat down on a stump and cuddled me in her lap; and I, pushing aside -her dress at the throat, kissed her where she was the prettiest.</p> - -<p>“Why are you a <i>halaïc</i>?” I moaned. “Why do you have to be a -donkey—you who are beautiful as a Greek nymph?”</p> - -<p>Her face softened, her eyes became misty, and her lips quivered, yet -remained wreathed in smiles. Silently she patted me, and I spoke again -of the cruelty of her position.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, <i>yavroum</i>, you see the old people are very poor. They -have no money this month to engage a donkey, and the men on this place -are too old for such hard work. I am young and strong, so I do it.”</p> - -<p>“But why are you a <i>halaïc</i>?” I repeated.</p> - -<p>She laughed. “I am not exactly a <i>halaïc</i>, for I am a free woman. -I may go if I please—only I please to stay. The old <i>hanoum</i> -brought me up. I love her. She is old and poor. She needs me, and I -stay.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>100</span> -Just then Sitanthy came out of the house, and claimed a part of the -lap that I was occupying, and there we both sat for awhile. But the -<i>halaïc</i> had much to do, and presently we were sent off to play.</p> - -<p>I questioned Sitanthy about her.</p> - -<p>“She will pine away some day and die,” Sitanthy said.</p> - -<p>My eyes grew larger. “Never!” I cried. “She is immortal.”</p> - -<p>Sitanthy shook her head. “Oh, yes, she will; for her ailment is -incurable. Her heart is buried in a grave.”</p> - -<p>In vain I begged for more explanations. With maddening precision -Sitanthy reiterated the same words. She had heard her grandmother say -this, and being a child of her race she accepted it as final. Her mind -received without stimulating her imagination. But I was a Greek child, -with a mind as alert, an imagination as fertile as hers were placid and -apathetic.</p> - -<p>The <i>halaïc</i> became the heroine of my daydreams. There was not -a tale which my brain remembered or concocted in which she did not -figure. My soul thirsted for knowledge of her affairs. They beckoned -to me as forcibly as had the tumble-down wall, and I meant some day to -penetrate her secrets.</p> - -<p>She had said that the old <i>hanoum</i> had brought her up, and that -the old <i>hanoum</i> was very poor.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>101</span> That was one more reason why -she should have been given a great marriage. Any rich Turk would have -been willing to pay a fortune for such as she. In the East, we talk of -these things openly, as common occurrences; and since my intimacy with -Djimlah I had unconsciously learned a great deal about Turkish customs.</p> - -<p>The affairs of the <i>halaïc</i> quite absorbed me. I watched her -carefully. She never looked sad, or even tired. She performed her -menial duties as if they were pleasant tasks, like arranging flowers in -vases. She did everything, from being the donkey of the well to beating -the rugs, washing the linen, and scrubbing the floors.</p> - -<p>In the early fall, toward sunset one day, I met her for the first time -outside the garden wall. I was being taken home to supper, and she -was mounting a hill leading to the forest of Belgrade. She passed me -without seeing me, her eyes on the horizon, a mysterious smile on her -lips.</p> - -<p>My heart leaped at the radiance of her appearance. She was like the -embodiment of all the Greek heroines of myth and history. The wondrous -expression on her face so moved me that I had to sit down to keep my -heart from leaping from my breast.</p> - -<p>“Come now, mademoiselle,” said the elder who was with me, “you know you -are already late for your supper.”</p> - -<p>On any other occasion I should have kicked my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>102</span> governess, but the face -of the <i>halaïc</i> had sobered me. Obediently I walked home, but I -did not eat much supper.</p> - -<p>The next time I saw Sitanthy, I told her of my meeting with the -<i>halaïc</i>.</p> - -<p>Sitanthy nodded. “She was going to her hour of happiness. She lives for -that hour. She has it from time to time.”</p> - -<p>In vain I begged for more particulars. Sitanthy was the most Asiatic of -all the Turkish children I have known. She could tell me stories of her -world; but her world appeared to her as matter-of-fact and unromantic -as the world of the elders.</p> - -<p>Whenever I saw the <i>halaïc</i> she was lovely to me. She smothered me -with kisses, and she scolded me kindly whenever I needed it, which was -pretty often. But there was a patrician reserve about her which kept me -from questioning her.</p> - -<p>She was tender, but at times cruel. She would laugh at things which -choked my throat with a big lump. Damlaly Pasha’s household was poor. -They lived on his pension, which was generally in arrears; for the -Oriental knows no fixed time, and the Turkish government is the most -oriental factor in their oriental lives.</p> - -<p>There came days when the exchequer of the household was reduced to -small coins, which the hanoum kept tied in a knot in one of the corners -of her indoor veil. She always gave us a penny,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>103</span> when I visited -there; and Sitanthy and I would call the <i>simitzi</i>, passing by -with his wares on his head, and we would buy four of his delectable -<i>simit</i>, big enough to wear as bracelets—until we had eaten them.</p> - -<p>Then came afternoons when we were given only a halfpenny, and each -of us had only one <i>simit</i>; and then there was a time when the -<i>hanoum</i> had not even a halfpenny, and she wept because she could -not buy us <i>simit</i>. That was the day that the <i>halaïc</i> was -cruel. She laughed at the sorrow of her mistress, and derided her; and -the old <i>hanoum</i> was so mortified that she stopped crying at once.</p> - -<p>It happened that one day I was taken suddenly ill while playing with -Sitanthy; and the old <i>hanoum</i> sent word to my home, begging leave -to keep me in her house, in order that I should not be moved, and -imploring to be trusted.</p> - -<p>It was the <i>halaïc</i> who took care of me. She made up two little -beds, and slept herself between them. The old <i>hanoum</i> brought -a brazier into the room, filled with lighted charcoal, and on it she -heated olive oil in a tin saucer. When it was very hot they took -off my nightgown, sprinkled dried camomiles all over me; and the -<i>halaïc</i>, dipping her hands into the scorching oil, began to rub -me. She rubbed and rubbed, till I screamed, and was limp as a rag. But -I fell into refreshing slumber immediately afterwards.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>104</span> -When I awoke, dripping with perspiration, the <i>halaïc</i> was -changing my nightgown. Then she put me into the other little bed, which -was warm and dry.</p> - -<p>Some hours later, I again awoke, and saw the <i>halaïc</i> moving about -the room on tiptoe. She threw a cloak over her shoulders, and, with the -caution of a cat about to lap forbidden milk, stole out of the room.</p> - -<p>I sat up in my bed and wondered what she was doing. Then I arose and -went to the window. The last quarter of the moon lighted the garden, -and distinctly I saw the <i>halaïc</i> disappearing into a group of -cypresses.</p> - -<p>In an instant I wrapped a shawl around me, and went down after her. -When I next caught sight of her she did not move like a cat any more. -She held in each hand a lighted candle, home-made and aromatic, and she -was going in and out among the trees, as if she were playing a game, -and all the time mumbling something that seemed to be a rhyme.</p> - -<p>Then she crouched low on the ground and exhorted Allah to be merciful -and forgive her her—. It was a word I did not understand, and the next -day I had forgotten it.</p> - -<p>After a time she rose, put the ends of the lighted candles between her -lips, went to the well, and drew water from it with a small tin cup -tied to a string.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>105</span> -She watered all the trees of this clump, counting the drops as they -fell: “<i>Bir, iki, utch, dort, besh, alti, yedi.</i>” On the seventh -she always stopped, and went on to the next tree. She did all the -counting without dropping the lighted candles from her mouth—which was -very hard, for I tried it a few days later.</p> - -<p>After the watering was ended, she blew out the candles, fell prone on -the earth, and begged Allah, the Powerful, Allah, the Almighty, to -forgive her. She wailed and wept, and told Allah over and over that -she was doing everything according to his bidding, for the sake of his -forgiveness.</p> - -<p>Hidden in the shrubbery close by, I wondered what could be the crime of -that radiant creature, who had enthralled and captivated my imagination.</p> - -<p>At length she rose, and danced a weird dance to the mouse-eaten looking -moon, in turn beseeching her:</p> - -<p>“Queen of the Night, Guardian of Womanly Secrets, Mother of Silent -Hours—intercede for me—help me!”</p> - -<p>She danced on and on, till she was quite worn out, and fell on the -ground weeping.</p> - -<p>I could endure no more; besides my teeth were chattering, and all the -aches that were so especially my own took possession of my frail body -again. I came out of my hiding-place to where the <i>halaïc</i> lay.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>106</span> -She looked up at me bewildered. Then she rose on her knees, and touched -me with her fingers, as if to ascertain that I were a living child. She -peered into my face through the tears in her eyes—and I, quite afraid -now, said not a word.</p> - -<p>At length she broke the silence.</p> - -<p>“Is that you, Greek baby?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“Who sent you here?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody. I came.”</p> - -<p>She extended her palms upward. Her face took on one of her mystic -smiles.</p> - -<p>“Allah,” she said softly. “Allah, thou forgivest me, the unworthy.”</p> - -<p>For a long time she prayed to that power whom she called Allah, and I -knew to be God. When her prayers were at an end, she gathered me to her -heart, and kissed me with love and fervent exaltation; and thus carried -me into the house.</p> - -<p>Again she rubbed me with hot oil, and in order to warm me better she -took me into her bed, and I slept, held fast in her arms.</p> - -<p>The next day I must have been quite ill, and she never left me; for -every time I opened my eyes she was there, crouching by me, wearing -her radiant smile, which would have coaxed any truant soul to return -to earth. At any rate it coaxed mine, which came again, though -reluctantly, to inhabit my poor little body.</p> - -<p>On the first day that I really felt better and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>107</span> could sit up, I took -advantage of her devoted attendance to question her.</p> - -<p>“What have you done so monstrous and wicked, which Allah must forgive -you?”</p> - -<p>After a moment’s thought, she answered me, simply and directly.</p> - -<p>“I gave not myself to a man, as Allah ordains that every woman should -do, and I have given no children to multiply the world.”</p> - -<p>For hours I puzzled over these words; but in the end I did get at their -meaning. New vistas, new horizons opened to my brain. What she meant, -of course, was that she was not married.</p> - -<p>In the middle of that night I awoke—and I woke her too. I sat up in -bed, determined to ask, till all was told to me.</p> - -<p>“Then why don’t you marry?” I demanded peremptorily.</p> - -<p>“Now, <i>yavroum</i>, you go to sleep. You are only a baby, and you -cannot understand.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not a baby!” I cried. “I know heaps and heaps of things, and if -you don’t tell me, I shall not go to sleep—and what is more I shall -uncover myself and catch my death of cold. So please tell me why you -don’t marry.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Because he whose children I should have been happy to bear is for ever -buried, beyond that hill, in the forest of Belgrade.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>108</span> -“That cannot be,” I said sceptically, “there is no cemetery there.”</p> - -<p>“No, <i>yavroum</i>,” she said softly, “but he lies there; for I buried -him.”</p> - -<p>Through the curtainless windows the stars were lending us light. The -face of the <i>halaïc</i> shone sweet and tender, full of womanly charm -and loveliness. My little hand slipped into hers. Who shall deny that -we have lived before, that each little girl has been a woman before? -Else why should I, a mere child, have understood this grown-up woman; -and why should she, a woman, have thus spoken to me?</p> - -<p>There we sat, our mattresses on the floor, as near to each other as -possible, holding each other’s hands while the stars were helping us to -see—and perhaps to understand.</p> - -<p>“Like you, he was a Greek, and like you he said things about nymphs -and goddesses. He said that I was one of them, and he loved me. Some -day soon I was to be his. But in our household then there was another -man who vowed that no infidel should possess me. We were living at -the time over the hill, in the outskirts of the forest of Belgrade. -One night when the moon was at its waning, like the night you saw me -in the garden, that man killed my lover. I buried him myself—in the -forest of Belgrade—and, have tended his grave for these seven years. -I do everything to please Allah, and I never complain.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>109</span> To avert the -punishment which is allotted in the other world to the women who have -not done his will, I exhort him, according to the prescribed magics. -It is said that if during these rites, some time, a child should come, -it is Allah himself who sends it, to show that he understands and -forgives—and you came, <i>yavroum</i>, the other night.”</p> - -<p>She bent over and kissed me gratefully.</p> - -<p>“I shall work all my life for nothing, doing everything to help -others, in the hope that when I die, I shall be made very young and -very beautiful and shall be given to the lord, my lover. And maybe, -<i>yavroum</i>,” she added, almost in a whisper, “I may have a baby -like you—for you are a Greek baby, and he was a Greek.”</p> - -<p>I cuddled very close to her and kissed her, my arms wound around her -neck, and went to sleep.</p> - -<p>After that I no longer minded her being a <i>halaïc</i>, and even -at times being the donkey. For wherever I saw her, and in whatever -occupation, her background was always the Elysian fields. There she -walked in the glory of her beauty, and in company with her Greek lover.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>110</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xi">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<span>MISDEEDS</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">I</span> DID miss Djimlah and Chakendé and Nashan, yet the <i>halaïc</i> made -up for a great deal, and what is more, knowing now that some day she -would go to heaven and meet her Greek lover, I was telling <em>her</em> -the Greek history, or rather that part of the Greek history where the -Greeks were intermarrying with the gods.</p> - -<p>It is a pity that the world should be so large, and that we should -have to go from place to place, leaving behind those we have learned -to love. When the time arrived for me to go back to the island, I wept -copiously. I did so mind leaving behind Sitanthy and especially the -<i>halaïc</i>. She, however, in spite of the sorrow she felt at bidding -me good-bye, kept on saying: “Think, <i>yavroum</i>, you might never -have come, and that would have been far worse. Besides we must submit -to Allah’s will gladly, and not weep and show him our unwillingness to -obey.”</p> - -<p>It is three hours from the Bosphorus to the islands, by going from the -Bosphorus to Constantinople, and from Constantinople to the islands. -Tears kept on coming to my eyes from time to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>111</span> time, while the boat -was steaming on; yet no sooner did I get a glimpse of our own island -and our own pine trees than I forgot the <i>halaïc</i> and Sitanthy -and my sorrow, and in spite of the people on the boat I burst forth -into a loud song of joy. I was never any good at tune, and there was -little difference between my singing and the miauling of a cat; yet -whenever I was particularly happy I had to express it by song, and only -a peremptory order would stop me. And while I sang, looking at the -island, I was only thinking of the three playmates I was to see, and -the <i>halaïc</i> and Sitanthy were forgotten, as if they had never -existed. My thoughts were on the three, and on the pleasure they would -experience when they saw me returning to them—as indeed they did.</p> - -<p>That year was a memorable one in our lives, because it was the last -in which my three playmates would be permitted to go uncovered, and -play with children of both sexes. They were now nearing the age at -which little Turkish girls become women, must don the tchir-chaff -and yashmak, hide themselves from the world and prepare for their -womanhood. I was, of course, always to continue seeing them and -visiting them, but they could no longer enjoy the freedom they had -enjoyed up to now—now that they were to become women.</p> - -<p>I found all three deep in the study of foreign<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>112</span> languages. In the -spring of that year Djimlah’s grandmother decided that it would be -very good for the three Turkish girls to go twice a week and spend the -morning at Nizam, where all the European children congregated. She -wanted Djimlah to see as much of the European world as possible before -she was secluded. It was thus that we all four, accompanied by our -French teacher, went to the pine forest of Nizam. We did not like this -as much as staying at home and playing by ourselves; but the old hanoum -was quite insistent, and for the first time made us do what she thought -best.</p> - -<p>It interfered greatly with my scheme of introducing my companions to -the wonders of Greek history, because now that I was a little older -my mother refused to let me spend the nights with Djimlah, and since -our time was quite filled with studies the only hours we had for -story-telling were those in which we had to mingle with other children.</p> - -<p>However, it was interesting, and the different acquaintances we made -taught us a lot of games we should never have thought of by ourselves. -I cannot say that we liked our new acquaintances particularly, at any -rate we did not love any of them. They were mostly silly, we thought, -and the English girls were stiff and we did not care for the way they -spoke French. Besides most of them had large protruding teeth, which -we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>113</span> thought very unbecoming to girls. We used to call them Teeth.</p> - -<p>It was there in the pines that we met Semmeya Hanoum. She was -much older than any of us, and she ought to have been wearing the -<i>tchir-chaff</i>, and to have been living in the seclusion of the -<i>haremlik</i>; but her people were not very orthodox, and Semmeya had -a way of her own of getting what she wanted, and what she wanted just -then was not to be secluded.</p> - -<p>We never quite made up our minds about her. We had days when we knew -we did not like her, for we did not consider her honourable. She would -rather cheat at games than play fair, and she would always tell a fib -to get out of a disagreeable predicament. Again there were days when we -almost loved her for she was very fascinating.</p> - -<p>That year we were particularly unfortunate in doing things we ought -not to have done. In many of these—until Semmeya brought her clever -mind to bear—we seemed hopelessly entangled. For example, when we -stole grapes from a vendor who had fallen asleep. We did not mean to -steal: we only thought of how wonderfully exciting it was to walk up on -tip-toe, reach the grapes, get a bunch, and slip away without awakening -the vendor. Semmeya and Djimlah and Chakendé and I accomplished it -successfully. As Nashan was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>114</span> reaching for a bunch she slipped—and the -man awoke!</p> - -<p>We did not know what would have happened to us—as we talked it over -afterwards—we thought we should probably have been taken to prison to -spend our young lives there, without light or air. We were only saved -from that dreadful fate by Semmeya’s inventiveness.</p> - -<p>Nashan stood there, petrified, staring at the vendor. Djimlah hid her -face on my shoulder; I was trying to hide behind Chakendé; and Chakendé -was trembling all over.</p> - -<p>Semmeya walked straight up to the man and said to him proudly:</p> - -<p>“A vendor who has something to sell must <em>never</em> go to sleep. We -wanted some grapes, and of course we had to have them, and naturally we -took them. Now, how much do we owe you, vendor?”</p> - -<p>The man was entirely apologetic, and begged to be forgiven. He said, -since we were four, it would make about an <i>oka</i> of grapes, and he -would let us have them for four <i>paras</i>. I knew he was cheating -us in asking four pennies. By no possibility could we have taken an -<i>oka</i>.</p> - -<p>Having paid him we walked away with our heads high, but I trembled, and -I know Djimlah did, too, for her arm in mine was shaking.</p> - -<p>We spoke then of our feelings and of the awful thing that happened to -our hearts when the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>115</span> man opened his eyes. Djimlah wept at the thought -of being caught as a thief. “Why did we do it, <i>yavroum</i>?” she -kept on wailing to me; “why did we do it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why we did it,” I replied, nor did I know then why we -kept on getting into scrapes, from the consequences of which Semmeya -always saved us. I know now that every bit of devilry we perpetrated -was at her instigation.</p> - -<p>While we were not conscious of her evil influence, and were fully -grateful to her for saving us, yet we always mistrusted her; and once -in despair we came together and debated how to tell her that we did not -care to have her for a friend any more.</p> - -<p>Nashan then gravely remarked: “We must remember that without her -several times we should have been compelled to die.”</p> - -<p>This we acknowledged to be true, and resolved still to bear with her. -Moreover, Semmeya was a remarkable story-teller, and on rainy days, -when we could not play outdoors, we would congregate in one house and -Semmeya would hold us enthralled with a fabrication of her imagination. -She could thrill us or make us laugh, at will, and was the undisputed -queen of rainy days.</p> - -<p>Just the same, we never felt that she was quite one of us—even I who -was much more under her spell than the others. We came to know that -whenever she wanted anything she was going<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>116</span> to get it, and that some -one else would pay for it.</p> - -<p>“It is her Greek blood that makes her so,” Chakendé said one noon; then -looked up at me in fear; but at these words Djimlah declared that it -was time to pray, and they all fell on their knees, facing Mecca. They -knew I would not attack them while they were praying, and they made -their devotions long enough for my anger to cool somewhat.</p> - -<p>The legend about her Greek blood was that her grandmother had been -taken from the island of Cyprus, when a baby, and sold into a -<i>haremlik</i>. Semmeya told us that only after she was married and -had children did her grandmother learn that she was a Greek; and then -she hanged herself from despair. Perhaps this matter of the Greek -grandmother helped to make Semmeya dear to me, although now, as I look -back upon it all, I think it was because instinctively I understood a -little of the curse of temperament, and poor Semmeya had a large share -of it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The following year Semmeya was married, and three days before her -wedding we were invited to see her trousseau, and to be feasted and -presented with gifts. We had reached the age when we began to talk of -love and marriage in tones of awe, with the ignorance of children and -the half-awakened<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>117</span> knowledge of womanhood. And, after we came away from -her, we put our heads together and whispered our hope that her husband -would never find out what we knew about her character.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>118</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xii">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<span>HOW I WAS SOLD TO ST GEORGE</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">S</span>HORTLY after Semmeya’s wedding an epidemic of typhoid fever swept -over Constantinople. Owing to our unsanitary drainage conditions such -epidemics were not rare. All four of us had the fever. With me it was -so acute, and lasted so long, that the doctors gave me up as a sickly -child who had not the strength to battle for health. My lengthy illness -left me alive, it is true, but as a fire leaves standing a structure -which it has completely destroyed within. Apparently there remained -nothing solid to build on. The doctors intimated as much when they said -I might eat and do what pleased me—and went away.</p> - -<p>To them I was only a hopeless patient. It was different with my mother: -she would not give up the fight.</p> - -<p>In her despair, and when science failed her, she turned to what in -reality she always had more faith in—her religion, and particularly -her favourite saint, St George of the Bells. Him she had inherited -from the paternal side of her family,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>119</span> of which he had been—shall I -say—the idol, for more than two hundred years.</p> - -<p>I did not share her predilection. My own particular saint was St -Nicholas, even then when I was beginning to take pride in my critical -attitude toward religion. Looking back, and raising the veil from my -once ardent devotion, I must admit that my partiality originated in a -life-size icon, painted by a celebrated Russian, and presented by the -Russian church to the monastery of St Nicholas, where I used to go for -my devotions. I was only four years old when the icon was sent, but I -fell an immediate victim to its beauty. Had it represented St Gregory -or St Aloysius, my devotion would have been the same. It is always thus -with us: scratch a Greek and you will find a pagan.</p> - -<p>However, when my mother told me that she was going to send for St -George of the Bells, I raised no objection. I knew enough of his deeds -to have a respectful fear of him. Among the orthodox Greeks, especially -among those who, like us, lived on the sea of Marmora, to send for a -saint is an awe-inspiring act. One does not have recourse to it except -as a last resort. It is, moreover, an expense that few can afford, -though I have known poor Greek families to sell even their household -effects to have the saint brought to them.</p> - -<p>From the moment that it was decided the saint<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>120</span> should be sent for, -our house was in a tumult of cleaning. My room especially was made -immaculate, and I was put into my finest nightgown. No coquette was -ever more carefully arrayed for the visit of a handsome young doctor -than I was for the saint. A large table, covered with a new white -cloth, was placed near my bed. On it was an incense-burner, flowers, -and a bowl of water—to be blessed, and used to bathe my face so long -as it should last.</p> - -<p>Two men, for their strength and size called <i>pallikaria</i>, had -gone for the icon. St George of the Bells, though on the same island -with us, had his monastery up on the highest summit of the mountains, -several miles from our house. In order to receive the saint with proper -ceremony my mother sent for the parish priests. They arrived shortly -before the icon, dressed in their most festive robes of silver thread, -and with their long curls floating over their shoulders.</p> - -<p>The <i>pallikaria</i> arrived, bearing the saint, and preceded by a -monk from his monastery. When they brought him into my room, though -I was very weak, I was raised from my bed and placed at the foot of -the icon. It was quite large, and painted on wood. The face alone was -visible: all the rest had been covered with gold and silver, tokens -of gratitude from those whom the saint had cured. Rings, ear-rings, -bracelets, and other jewellery were also hanging from the icon, while<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>121</span> -hundreds of gold and silver bells were festooned about it.</p> - -<p>My room was filled with the members of my family, and a few of the most -intimate and pious of our friends. Candles were lighted, and mass was -solemnly sung. Afterwards everybody went away, and I was left to the -care of St George of the Bells.</p> - -<p>Owing to the distance, the icon and the monk could not return to the -monastery the same day, and were to spend the night at our house. I was -then twelve years old, and as I have said, beginning to be sceptical of -the religious superstitions about me. Yet the ceremony had impressed -me deeply; and in the solemn hours of the night, with only the light -of the <i>kandilla</i> burning before the icon, a certain mysticism -took possession of me. I was shaken out of my apathy, and believed that -St George could save me, if he wanted to, and if I prayed to him—and -pray I did, too, most fervently, though I should have been ashamed to -confess it after the daylight brought back to me my juvenile pride in -being a sceptic.</p> - -<p>In the morning, when the <i>pallikaria</i> came to fetch the icon, one -of the powerfully built creatures, a man whose hair was already growing -white about the temples, approached my bedside and said with great -solemnity:</p> - -<p>“<i>Kyria, mou</i>, he means to cure you. I have not carried him for -twenty years without learning<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>122</span> his ways. Why, when we went to take him -from his place he fairly flew to our arms. I know what that means. You -will get well, for he wanted to come to you. Sometimes he is so heavy -that we can hardly carry him a mile an hour—and I have known him to -refuse to be moved at all.”</p> - -<p>The old <i>pallikari</i> was right. St George did cure me. In a few -months I was stronger than I had ever been in my life. It was then -that my mother—partly out of gratitude, partly in order that he might -continue to look after me—resolved to sell me to St George.</p> - -<p>For three days she and I fasted. Early on the morning of the fourth day -we started, barefooted, for the mountains and St George’s monastery, -carrying wax torches nearly as tall as I. At first I was ashamed to -meet people in my bare feet, until I noticed with elation that they all -reverently uncovered their heads as we passed.</p> - -<p>It was a long, weary walk. Up the mountains it seemed as if we were -climbing for heaven. The road zigzagged steeply upward, now revealing, -now hiding the monastery from our eyes. At last we reached the huge -rocks that surrounded it like a rampart.</p> - -<p>Everything was ready for our arrival. The <i>Hegoumenos</i>, the head -monk, received us. I was taken to a little shrine, bathed in holy -water, and put to bed, after receiving some <i>soupe-maigre</i>;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>123</span> for I -was to fast three days longer. My little bed was made up on the marble -floor of the church. At night, another was arranged beside it for my -mother, since I could not be induced to sleep alone in the church.</p> - -<p>During the three days spent in the mountains I forgot completely that -I was a person holding advanced ideas, and that I did not believe in -superstitions. There was something in the atmosphere of the place which -forbade analysis and called only for devotion.</p> - -<p>My mother and I were the only persons who slept in the church. There -were a number of insane patients in the monastery itself. St George -of the Bells is renowned for the number of cures of insanity which he -effects. The head monk, as a rule, is a man of considerable education -and shrewdness, with no mean knowledge of medicine. The insane patients -are under his care for forty days, with the grace of St George. They -practically live out of doors, take cold baths, dress lightly, and eat -food of the simplest. In addition to this they received mystic shocks -to help on their recovery, and, I believe, usually regain their mental -equilibrium.</p> - -<p>While I was staying at the monastery a young man was brought there from -Greece. He was a great student of literature, and very dissipated. The -two combined had sent him to St George. He was a handsome fellow, with -long white<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>124</span> hands, and a girlish mouth. He was permitted to go about -free, and I met him under the arcade of the monastery, declaiming a -passage from Homer. When his eyes met mine, he stopped and addressed me.</p> - -<p>“I am coming from Persia, and my land is Ithaca. I am Ulysses, the -king of Ithaca.” Then he threw out his hands toward me and screamed, -“Penelope!”</p> - -<p>One may imagine that I was frightened, but before I had time to answer, -he burst into a peal of laughter, and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Why, you are Achilles, dressed in girl’s clothes. But you will come -with us to fight, will you not?”</p> - -<p>Much to my relief a monk came up and said, “Don’t stay here and listen -to him. It only excites him.”</p> - -<p>I became quite interested in the young man after this, and later -learned that when his forty days were at an end, by a sign St George -intimated that he was to remain longer; and a few months later the -young man returned to his country entirely cured.</p> - -<p>There was one of the monks, Father Arsenius, who was as devout as my -mother. To him I really owe all my pleasure while in the monastery. He -was an old man, but strong and active. He took me every day for rambles -about the mountains, and never would let me walk uphill.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>125</span> He would pick -me up and set me on his shoulder, as if I were a pitcher of water, and -then, chanting his Gregorian chants, we would make the ascents. One -day we were sitting on one of the big rocks surrounding the monastery. -Miles below we could see the blue waters of the Marmora, and far beyond -it the Asiatic coast of Turkey. The air was filled with the smell of -the pine forest below. Father Arsenius had been telling me of the -miracles performed by St George.</p> - -<p>“It is curious, Father Arsenius,” I commented, “that they should -have built the monastery so high up. It is so difficult to get to, -especially when one comes on foot, the way we did. How did they think -of building it up here?”</p> - -<p>“No one thought of it. The saint himself chose this spot. Don’t you -know about it, little one?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head.</p> - -<p>Father Arsenius’s face changed, and there came into it the light which -made him look almost holy. In a rapt tone he began: “It was years ago, -in the fifteenth century, when a dream came to one of our monks, a holy -man, chosen by the saint to do his bidding.”</p> - -<p>He crossed himself three times, raised his eyes to the blue above, and -for some seconds was lost in his dreams.</p> - -<p>“The saint appeared to our holy monk and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>126</span> said: ‘Arise and follow me, -by the sound of a bell, over land and sea, till the bell shall cease to -ring. There dig in the earth till you find my icon; and on that spot -build a chapel, and spend your life in worshipping me.’</p> - -<p>“Three times the vision came to the monk; then he arose, went to his -superior, and with his permission started on his pilgrimage. As soon -as he left the monastery he heard the sound of the bell, and following -it he travelled for months, over land and sea, until he came to this -island. Here the sound of the bell became louder, until finally it -stopped. On that spot he began to dig——”</p> - -<p>“On what spot?” I interrupted.</p> - -<p>“Down by the little chapel, where now the holy spring oozes forth. -There the monk found the icon, and with it in his arms went about -begging for money to build the chapel.”</p> - -<p>“He must have been a very powerful man if he carried that icon about,” -I commented, “for now it takes two <i>pallikaria</i> to lift it.”</p> - -<p>Father Arsenius smiled his kind, fatherly smile. “My little one, -when our saint wants to, he can make himself as light as a feather. -After the monk had collected sufficient money he went to the Turkish -authorities and asked permission to build his chapel. The Turks had -just conquered Constantinople, and we had to ask permission for -everything at that time. The pasha to whom<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>127</span> the monk applied refused -him, saying that there were already churches enough.”</p> - -<p>Father Arsenius’ face, as he spoke, was no longer holy. He looked a -Greek, boiling for a fight. Gradually his features regained their calm -and he smiled at me, as he continued:</p> - -<p>“That night St George came to the monk in his dreams and bade him start -building without permission of the Turks. In the morning the monk -climbed the mountain, and with the help of two other monks began his -work. Ah! but I should like to have been that monk,” Father Arsenius -cried—but he would not permit his soul even the envy of a holy deed, -and humbly added: “Thy will be done, saint.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t the Turks interfere any more?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, they did, my little one. While the work was in progress they -heard of it, and sent word to the monk to stop it. He replied that he -obeyed higher orders than theirs. The pasha was furious, and set out -himself for the island, swearing he would hang the monk from his own -scaffolding.</p> - -<p>“But he reckoned without St George. At that time there were no roads -on the island, not even a path leading up here. The pasha and his -followers became lost in the woods, and had to spend the night, hungry -and thirsty, under the pine trees. In the middle of the night the -pasha woke up, struggling in the grip of St George. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>128</span> cried out to -his companions. They were tied to the trees. St George beat the pasha -with the flat of his sword until he was tired. Then he commanded him -to fall on his knees and promise to permit the chapel to be built. The -terrified Turk did as he was ordered, and, of his own accord, promised -to give money to build a large monastery, and he kept his word.”</p> - -<p>Father Arsenius looked at me with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, and -I laughed aloud to hear how the Greek saint had got the better of the -Turkish pasha.</p> - -<p>“I have been here for fifty years now,” Father Arsenius went on -presently; “and my wish is to die in the service of my saint.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think that when I am sold to him, he will take care of me?” I -asked.</p> - -<p>“I do not think so—I know so. His power is omnipotent; and his -kindness to people is wonderful. When there is any mortal disease among -them, he leaves here, goes out and fights for them.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know that?”</p> - -<p>“Because I hear him go, and come back.”</p> - -<p>I was overwhelmed. No trace of scepticism or unbelief remained in me.</p> - -<p>“Is he here now?” I asked, in the same mystic tone as the monk.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “He left here just before the cholera broke out in -Constantinople.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>129</span> -“But the cholera is over now.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am expecting him back at any minute.”</p> - -<p>“How do you hear him come and go?” I asked, unwonted fear of the -supernatural conquering me.</p> - -<p>“You will hear him, too, if he returns before you go. Everything in the -church moves and shakes when he leaves it or re-enters it.”</p> - -<p>“But if he should not come back while I am here, how can I be sold to -him?”</p> - -<p>“That does not matter,” Father Arsenius reassured me. “He will know of -it when he comes back—though I think that sometimes when people are -not cured, it is because he is far away, and his grace does not reach -them.” He bowed his head. “I have given my heart to him, and he has -purified it. I am his slave, and shall be so for life.”</p> - -<p>“I will be his slave, too,” I put in eagerly. Had I been asked at that -moment to become a nun, I should have done so gladly, such was the -influence Father Arsenius had over me.</p> - -<p>He rose. “Come, little one, let us go.”</p> - -<p>I put my little hand into his big, hard one—he was also the gardener -of the monastery—and together we walked through the <i>koumaries</i> -with which the mountain was covered. These are evergreen bushes, -which at a certain season bear fruit like cherries, which have an -intoxicating effect. Strangers, not understanding this,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>130</span> are sometimes -found helpless beneath the lovely bushes.</p> - -<p>As we came near the monastery Father Arsenius shaded his eyes with his -hand and gazed over toward the mountain ridge beyond.</p> - -<p>“The wind is rising. It will be very high to-night,” he said.</p> - -<p>The conversation with the monk had put me into a deep religious -fervour. I fell asleep that night in the church, and dreamed of the -monk who had travelled over land and sea, following the sound of a bell.</p> - -<p>How long I slept I cannot tell when I awoke in terror. I sat up and -peered around by the dim light of the <i>kandillas</i> burning before -the icons of the various saints. The large glass candelabra hanging -from the ceiling were swaying to and fro, jingling their crystals, -producing a ghastly sound. The bells on St George’s icon were tinkling; -two or three windows slammed, and there was a rushing sound through the -church. It all lasted only a short time, and then quietness returned.</p> - -<p>My mother awoke, though she was not so light a sleeper as I. “What is -it?” she asked startled.</p> - -<p>“It is St George coming back,” I answered.</p> - -<p>We both fell to praying, and I did not sleep any more that night. And -my heart was filled with pride that I had heard the coming of the saint.</p> - -<p>At the end of my three days’ fast, mass was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>131</span> celebrated, and then my -mother presented me to the <i>Hegoumenos</i>.</p> - -<p>“I wish my daughter to become the saint’s slave,” she said.</p> - -<p>“For ever?” he asked. “If so, she cannot marry.”</p> - -<p>“No; until her marriage. Yearly I will pay the saint a pigskin full of -oil and a torch as tall as she is. At her marriage I will ransom her -with five times this, and with five <i>medjediés</i> in addition.”</p> - -<p>The monk took me in his arms and raised me up so that I could kiss the -icon. Then he cried, in a voice so full of emotion that it made my -devout mother weep:</p> - -<p>“My Saint, unto thee I give the keeping of this child!”</p> - -<p>From the icon he took a silver chain, from which hung a little bell, -and placed it round my neck.</p> - -<p>“You are now St George’s slave,” he continued. “Until you return and -hang this with your own hands on the icon it must never leave you.”</p> - -<p>I kissed his hand, and the ceremony was over. We paid what we owed, and -left the monastery and good Father Arsenius with the assurance that a -power from above was having especial watch over me.</p> - -<p>From that time on my mother gave her yearly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>132</span> tribute, and the saint -kept his word to look after me.</p> - -<p>Although when I was married I was in America and my mother was in -Russia, she did not fail to pay the ransom which made it possible for -me to change masters without angering the saint. In place of the little -silver chain and bell, which I could not return personally, she gave a -gold one.</p> - -<p>As I write I can see the badge of my former slavery where it hangs -around a little old Byzantine icon in my room. I have never been -separated from it. During the whole of my girlhood I wore it; and when -I was in a convent school in Paris it gave me a certain distinction -among my mystified companions, who could hear it tinkle whenever I -moved.</p> - -<p>Asked about it, I only said that it was the badge of my slavery. -This gave rise to a variety of stories, invented by their Gallic -imaginations, in which I, with my bell, was the heroine.</p> - -<p>As I look at it now, it reminds me of the three days spent with St -George—the three days during which sensuous mysticism completely -clouded my awakening intelligence.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>133</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xiii">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<span>THE MASTER OF THE FOREST</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">O</span>N our return from the monastery we had the great joy of finding my -brother at home, back that very day from Europe. I was so delighted I -could hardly sit still. My happiness was dashed to the ground, when, -in the course of the next half hour, he remarked that he must leave -us in a few days to see the Bishop of Xanthy. I was speechless with -disappointment until my mother said:</p> - -<p>“Oh! that is lucky. The little one needs a complete change to become -quite herself again. She can go with you.”</p> - -<p>Thus it was quickly settled, and a few days later we set off. The first -part of the journey was like any other. We went to Constantinople and -took a train, which, after due deliberation, started, and in due time -again—or rather, not in due time—reached Koumourtzina. There began -what seemed to me our real journey, for we were now to travel entirely -on animal-back.</p> - -<p>We started on mules, in the afternoon, and rode for three hours at a -smart trot. In front of us lay the forest of Koumourtzina. Geography -has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>134</span> always been a closed science to me, so I have no idea where this -is, except that it is somewhere in Turkish territory, and on the way to -Xanthy.</p> - -<p>It was near nightfall. We took a short rest at a small village, ate a -hearty meal, exchanged the mules we had been riding for horses, and -started out to cross the forest. There was a silvery moonlight over all -the landscape, and the lantern which our guide carried, as he walked -in front of the horses, blinded us more than it helped us. We asked -to have the light put out, but the <i>kouroudji</i>, who was also the -owner of the horses we were riding, insisted on the lighted lantern as -part of the convention of the forest.</p> - -<p>My saddle was made of camel-bags, filled with blankets and clothes, and -the motion of the horse was smooth and soporific. I became drowsy from -the long day’s ride, and now and then stretched myself in the saddle.</p> - -<p>In the very heart of the forest my horse reared so unexpectedly that -had it not been for the vast pillowy saddle I should have been thrown -to the ground. My brother’s horse not only reared but whirled about -like a leaf in a storm. The <i>kouroudji</i> seized the bridle of my -horse and patted and spoke to him, while my brother, who was a very -good horseman, managed to calm his own mount somewhat, and to keep him -headed in the direction we wished to go.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>135</span> -“What is it?” I asked the <i>kouroudji</i>. “Why are they behaving like -this?”</p> - -<p>The Turk turned to my brother. “The effendi knows?”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I do. They smell blood.”</p> - -<p>“So they do, Bey Effendi. It is not the first time this accursed forest -has been the grave of men. <i>Allah kerim!</i>”</p> - -<p>He took hold of the bridles of both horses, and spoke to them in -endearing terms. There is an understanding between Turks and horses as -touching as the friendship between them and dogs.</p> - -<p>From a monotonous and tedious journey, our ride, of a sudden, -had become most exciting. Although the horses now followed the -<i>kouroudji</i> obediently, they whinnied from time to time, and -shivered.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be frightened,” said my brother to me, “and whatever happens -keep your head, and don’t scream. Screaming will do no good, and it may -lead to mishandling.”</p> - -<p>“But can’t we go back, Mano?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“We shall gain nothing by trying to. If a murder has been committed, we -may come upon the corpse. If it is something else, we are already in -the trap.”</p> - -<p>Before I had time to ask him what he meant by this, a shot was fired -over our heads, and, simultaneously, a number of forms emerged from the -forest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>136</span> -We were surrounded, and several dark lanterns flashed upon us.</p> - -<p>“Halt! Hands up!”</p> - -<p>“All right!” said my brother.</p> - -<p>Five men glided close to us, and I saw three pistols pointing at -us. I could now see our captors distinctly. They had on the Greek -<i>foustanella</i>, white, accordion-pleated skirts, stiff-starched, -reaching to the knees. Below they wore gaiters ending in the -<i>tsarouchia</i>, or soft-pointed shoes. Their graceful little jackets -were worn like capes, with the empty sleeves flapping. The Greek fez -with its long black tassel completed their picturesque costume.</p> - -<p>I do not know whether Greek brigands are really any better than -Bulgarian or Turkish ones, but the sight of their Hellenic costume -lessened my fears considerably. It sounds very silly, but my warm and -uncritical patriotism embraced all Greeks—even brigands. Impulsively I -cried out:</p> - -<p>“<i>Yassas, pallikaria!</i>” (Health to you, men!)</p> - -<p>The brigand next me, whose large brown hand was on the neck of my -horse, laughed.</p> - -<p>“<i>Yassu, kera mou!</i>” (Health to thee, my lady!)</p> - -<p>“What is it all about, <i>pallikaria</i>?” my brother asked.</p> - -<p>“The master of the forest, hearing of your passing through, claims his -privilege of making<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>137</span> you his guest awhile.” The man laughed at his own -pleasantry. “Will you dismount of your own accord, or shall we lend you -our assistance?”</p> - -<p>“Considering that you are five, and we are only two, and a half—” My -brother had a philosophic way of accepting the inevitable.</p> - -<p>“We are more than five,” remarked one of the men, pointing behind him -into the forest with his thumb.</p> - -<p>“You are plenty, in any case,” returned my brother, dismounting. He -helped me from my horse. In French he said:</p> - -<p>“There is a mistake. It is a long time since you and I possessed enough -to attract these gentlemen; but be polite and friendly to them.”</p> - -<p>The brigands ordered the <i>kouroudji</i>—who also accepted the whole -occurrence with philosophic calm—to proceed to Xanthy and report that -his charges were captured by brigands, who would shortly communicate -with their relatives.</p> - -<p>“Will he really travel for two days, just to carry that message?” my -brother asked with curiosity.</p> - -<p>“Crossing this forest is his business. He knows that, if he does not do -as we say, this forest will become his grave.”</p> - -<p>Paying the <i>kouroudji</i>, my brother bade him good-bye, and two of -the brigands conducted him off.</p> - -<p>They had told us the truth when they said<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>138</span> there were others in the -woods, for presently many more came up, and, with somewhat sardonic -humour, bade us welcome.</p> - -<p>“We are sorry to have to blindfold you,” said one, and took a big red -pocket-handkerchief from his pocket, which he began to fold on the -bias, for my eyes.</p> - -<p>“Please, <i>pallikari</i>, do you mind using <em>my</em> handkerchief?” I -asked.</p> - -<p>“If it will please you, <i>kera mou</i>.”</p> - -<p>I handed him my handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ma!</i> that’s too small.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you use two together?” I asked, giving him another.</p> - -<p>He took them and tied the ends together, then slipped the bandage over -my eyes, while another held up the lantern for him to see by.</p> - -<p>“<i>Empross!</i>” (Forward!) they said.</p> - -<p>I felt a big rough hand take mine, and we started off into the thick -woods. We were mounting gradually, and the underbrush became thicker. -Presently I tripped and fell.</p> - -<p>“<i>More</i> Mitso!” my guide called to some one ahead. “Come back and -make a chair with me to carry the little girl. She is stumbling.”</p> - -<p>The other returned; they joined their hands together, and I took my -seat on them, placing my arms around the men’s necks. I was neither -frightened for the present nor apprehensive for the future: I was -merely excited and enjoying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>139</span> the situation. My love of adventure was -being gratified to the full, and for once the knowledge that we were -poor was a satisfaction. As my brother had said, the days in which we -had money were so long left behind that even we ourselves had forgotten -them.</p> - -<p>I felt sure that as soon as the brigands discovered their mistake -they would let us go, the customs of the brigands being as well -known as those of any other members of the community. Besides, had -not my brother said it was all a mistake—and at the time my brother -represented to me the knowledge of the world. I only hoped that the -brigands would not realize it before we reached their lair.</p> - -<p>Up, and ever up we went, the men sure-footed in spite of the -underbrush. They halted at last, and set me down.</p> - -<p>One of them whistled.</p> - -<p>We waited a full minute, and he whistled again. Then one of them sang -in a rich baritone the first lines of the Greek national hymn—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">“Oh, Freedom! thou comest out of the holy bones of the Hellenes—oh, -Freedom!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>From somewhere in the vicinity another voice took up the refrain, and -shortly afterwards there came a crash and a rattle of chains.</p> - -<p>Some one took my hand again, and I felt that we passed through an -opening. Now we were descending; and gradually the coolness of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>140</span> -night air changed to warmth, and the smell of food came to our nostrils.</p> - -<p>We stopped, and our bandages were removed.</p> - -<p>I blinked and rubbed my eyes. We were in a large low room, the floor -of which was partially covered with sheep-skins. A fire was burning, -inside a ring of stones, in the middle of the floor, which was the bare -earth, and a man was sitting by it, cross-legged, cooking.</p> - -<p>“<i>Kali spera sas kai kalos orisete!</i>” (Good evening and welcome!) -he said to us. “The master will be in shortly. Pray be seated.”</p> - -<p>We sat down on some sheep-skins, and I looked about me with interest. -The longer I looked the larger the room grew. Its shadowy ends seemed -to stretch off indefinitely. The ceiling was roughly vaulted, and -I judged that it must be a cave, of which there are many in the -mountains. Numerous weapons lay on the ground or hung on the walls, but -there was nothing terrifying about the place.</p> - -<p>Very soon the leader came in. He was a man of about forty, dressed in -European clothes and unmistakably a dandy. He was tall and well-built, -and his black hair was parted in the middle, and carefully combed into -two large curly waves. His long black moustache was martially turned up -at the ends.</p> - -<p>He bowed to us as if he were a diplomat, and we his distinguished -guests.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>141</span> -“Welcome to our mountainous abode. I am very glad to meet you.”</p> - -<p>He shook hands with us warmly.</p> - -<p>“We, too, are very glad to meet you,” said my brother; “but I cannot -understand why you are taking all this trouble. What we could afford to -give you would not keep you in cigarettes a week.”</p> - -<p>“Are you quite sure, Mr Spiropoulo?”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious, my dear sir,” Mano cried, “you don’t mean to say you -take <em>us</em> for the Spiropouli?”</p> - -<p>The chief smiled a most attractive smile it appeared to me; though my -brother afterwards described it as fatuous.</p> - -<p>“I hope you did not find the ascent too difficult,” the leader inquired -solicitously.</p> - -<p>“Two of the <i>pallikaria</i> made a <i>skamnaki</i> for me,” I put in. -“It was very nice of them.”</p> - -<p>I have always spoken my mother tongue with considerable foreign accent, -not having learned it until after I spoke French, German and Turkish, -and this accent at once attracted the attention of our host. Gravely he -asked:</p> - -<p>“Did you acquire this French accent, mademoiselle, in the short time -you have been studying the French language. Let me see, it is three -months now since you passed through the forest before. That was the -first time you left Anatolia, I believe—and one does not acquire a -French accent in Anatolia.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>142</span> -From Mano’s face I knew that he was troubled, therefore I refrained -from being impertinent in answer to our host’s impertinence about my -accent. The latter went on lazily:</p> - -<p>“We were sorry to miss you before. We fully intended offering you our -hospitality then—only you changed your plans so suddenly, and arrived -a week before you had intended to. I am glad we were fortunate enough -to secure you this time. One pines for social intercourse in the -mountains.”</p> - -<p>The leader’s Greek was excellent. It was easy to see that he must have -been well born, or at least well educated. He stretched himself on a -sheep-skin near, and called to the cook:</p> - -<p>“A whole one, boys!” Then, turning to us: “No one will be able to say -that we did not kill the fatted lamb for you.”</p> - -<p>The cook, squatting by the fire, rose, walked over to an opening at one -side of the cave, and called:</p> - -<p>“A whole one, Steryio!”</p> - -<p>Returning to the middle of the room, he lifted up a trap-door, which -disclosed a large, bricked-up cavity, and began shovelling live coals -and brands into it from the fire.</p> - -<p>Mano opened his cigarette case, and offered it to the chief.</p> - -<p>The latter accepted it, and examined its contents critically.</p> - -<p>“They are good, Mr Spiropoulo,” he said with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>143</span> condescension, “but I -believe you will find mine better.”</p> - -<p>From his pocket he drew his own case, and passed it to my brother.</p> - -<p>“Excellent!” exclaimed Mano. “I know the brand.”</p> - -<p>“They were a present from his Holiness, the Bishop of Xanthy.”</p> - -<p>“Do you still give the church five per cent. of your—your revenues?” -my brother inquired. “I heard his Holiness mention this devotion of -yours to the church.”</p> - -<p>Our host laughed pleasantly. “So his Holiness said that, did he?”</p> - -<p>Two men came into the room carrying a lamb made ready for roasting. -They held it while a third impaled it on a long iron bar. Then the bar -was laid across two iron projections, over the bed of embers, and a -handle was fitted to the end of the bar. One of the brigands squatted -down and began slowly turning the spit, and the others shovelled more -embers into the cavity underneath the lamb. We could feel the heat even -where we sat.</p> - -<p>We all watched with interest the man rhythmically turning the lamb over -the fire. Gradually he began to hum a song in time to his turning. -It was one of the folk songs about the Armateloi and Kleftai, those -patriotic bandits who waged a guerrilla warfare against the Turks for -years<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>144</span> before the Revolution broke out in 1821. It is a period dear -to the hearts of all Greeks; for it prepared and trained the men who, -during the terrible nine years of the Revolution, were to stand up -against and defeat the enormous armies of Turkey.</p> - -<p>It is a period unique in the history of any nation, a period full of -grandeur of individual achievement, and it has been immortalized in -<i>Laïk</i> poetry. I do not believe that there is a Greek to-day -who does not know at least some of these long poems, composed by the -Armateloi themselves, put to music by themselves, and transmitted to us -by word of mouth, from father to son.</p> - -<p>As the brigand at the spit went on with his song, it was taken up like -an anthem by others, who began to swarm out of little cubby-holes -in the sides of the cave, which were hidden from view by hanging -sheep-skins. They squatted around the roasting lamb, or stretched -themselves on the ground, and snatched at the song, here, there, -anywhere; and the fumes of the meat mingled with the song, and the song -became part of the meat; and all blended with the vaulted room, and the -glorious white fustanella gleaming in the firelight.</p> - -<p>One must be born under an alien yoke to understand what the love of -one’s fatherland is. Until the last year the Greeks may have gained -little in the estimation of the world,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>145</span> since a small portion of them -wrenched themselves free from the Turkish yoke. But those who condemn -them must remember that since the time of Alexander the Great, the -Greeks have passed from one conqueror to another—escaping annihilation -only by rendering their conquerors themselves Greeks in literature and -thought. At last they fell under the yoke of a race which neither could -learn their language nor cared for their civilization, and for four -hundred years they dwelled under this Asiatic dominion.</p> - -<p>On this night, in the brigands’ cave, I understood the power Greece had -over her sons. These men were nothing but cut-throats. They would kill -or mutilate a man for money: yet as they sang the songs of those other, -more glorious brigands, who had striven for years in desperate fighting -against the conquerors of their race, they seemed to be touched by -something ennobling. Their faces shone with that light which comes from -the holiest of loves—patriotism.</p> - -<p>They sang with fervour, and when they came to the parts relating -victories over the Turks, they clapped their hands and shouted, “<em>So! -so!</em>”</p> - -<p>From one song they passed to another, while the lamb ever turned in -time to the music, and men brought chestnuts, potatoes, and onions, and -roasted them in the edge of the smaller fire—always singing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>146</span> -Of a sudden one man broke into a gay little song of the monasteries:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="verse"> - <div class="line">“How they rubbed the pepper, those devilish monks!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>To the giddy words and the infectious tune, a dozen men sprang to their -feet. They held out their handkerchiefs to each other, and instantly -there was a garland of dancing brigands about the fire. It was our -national dance, the Syrto, and they went through it with gusto and -passion.</p> - -<p>By the time that was over, the lamb was cooked. We were invited to sit -round in a circle; the meat was torn apart with the hands, and a piece -dealt to each person.</p> - -<p>Each brigand crossed himself three times, and then fell to, ravenously. -I enjoyed my dinner as much as they. My poor brother pretended to. As I -learned afterwards, he was afraid that the brigands would kill us from -mere annoyance, when they discovered that we were not the rich pair -they believed they had in their possession.</p> - -<p>The meal over, the brigands crossed themselves again devoutly, and -thanked God, and His Son Christ, for the protection they had hitherto -extended to them. Then they began to talk of their exploits. Far from -being conscience-stricken, or in any way ashamed of their profession, -they gloried in it; and being in constant warfare with the Turkish -soldiery, <a name="they" id="they"></a><ins title="Original has 'thy'">they</ins> -felt a really patriotic pride in their manner of life.</p> - -<p>They told of running a certain Turkish officer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>147</span> through the heart -without the slightest pity for the man, or shame of the deed. Was he -not a Turk, their arch enemy, and the enemy of their race? Their point -of view on the ethics of life was quite original to me, and as they -boasted of the things they had done, something barbaric in me responded -to their recitals. I loved them, and as for their leader, he was a real -hero to me.</p> - -<p>Again they passed from themselves to the heroic period of the Armateloi -and Kleftai, when brigandage attained its apotheosis.</p> - -<p>After the fall of Constantinople, the Greeks were powerless against -the Turks. The other powers of Europe, during two hundred years, were -too frightened to think of more than saving their own skins; and when, -later, they did interfere in behalf of the Christians under the Ottoman -yoke, they did so only as an excuse for their personal gain.</p> - -<p>Thus the Greeks had to depend on themselves, and in time the flower of -Greek manhood took to the mountains. Then the wrongs done by the Turks, -to their weak and defenceless fellow-countrymen, were fiercely and -brutally punished by these brigands. It was these Armateloi and Kleftai -who put an end to the human tax which the Greeks had been forced to pay -the conqueror. If a little girl was taken by force from a Greek home, -the brigands would fall upon a Turkish<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>148</span> village, and avenge the wrong -on the women and children of the Turks.</p> - -<p>It was a very rough form of justice; but gradually the Turks began to -fear the brigands, and in this fear they became more considerate toward -the Greeks.</p> - -<p>That period, with all its ferocity and unspeakable brutality, was -the period of modern Greek chivalry; for those men did not attack -for money. They levied on the people merely for enough to live; but -when they descended on them as avengers of their countrymen’s wrongs -they were merciless—and they did rob the Turkish garrisons. In the -Revolution of 1821, much of the powder used by the Greeks was Turkish -powder, and many a Turk died by a gun he once had carried.</p> - -<p>My brigands knew every one of the ballads of that time. They snatched -them from each other’s mouths, and recited them with no little talent -and dramatic power. They passed on to the Revolution itself, and to the -poetry which followed afterward. It was then Mano and I joined in. At -that time I knew the poetry of the Revolution better than I have ever -known any other subject since. Mano and I recited to them the poems -of Zalakosta and of Soutzo, of Paparighopoulo, and of the other great -poets who were inspired by the exploits of the Greeks from 1821 to -1829.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>149</span> -The enthusiasm of the brigands became tremendous. These poems, unlike -those of the Armateloi and Kleftai, are written in pure Greek, not in -the <i>Laïk</i> language, and naturally they belong to the educated -classes rather than to the people. My brother egged me on to recite, in -a way foreign to his nature.</p> - -<p>“Tell them the ‘Chani of Gravia,’” he cried.</p> - -<p>This poem is one of the finest of modern Greek poems. It relates a -fight which took place in an inn, during the Revolution, between a -handful of Greeks and a Turkish army. In the middle of the night, -during a lull in the fighting, the leader tells his men that death -is certain, and that the only thing left them is to cover death with -glory. It describes how, each seizing his arms, they burst forth upon -their sleeping foes, and by the miracle that sometimes attends on noble -courage cut their way through, and every man escaped.</p> - -<p>In part, the poem may be apocryphal, but it is founded on fact, and -thrills us to the marrow of our bones. It substantiates our claim to be -descendants of the old, heroic Greeks. As I recited to them the “Chani -of Gravia,” the brigands fell under its spell; and some of the love -they felt for that glorious fight fell upon me too. I became a small -part of that poem into which I was initiating them.</p> - -<p>After I had finished, one of them called hoarsely:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>150</span> -“Say it again!”</p> - -<p>I repeated it again, from beginning to end.</p> - -<p>When the last line was ended, some of the men were weeping.</p> - -<p>“We shall yet drive out the Turks—by the help of God, we shall!”</p> - -<p>They were still deeply moved by the poem when my brother spoke to them.</p> - -<p>“<i>Pallikaria</i>, you have just heard the little girl reciting to -you what can only be learned in an educated home.” He turned to the -leader: “You cannot now believe that the child’s unfortunate accent is -an affectation, acquired in the last few months. <i>Pallikaria</i>, you -cannot for a moment think that my little sister is the Spiropoulo girl, -coming out of a parvenu home, with money the only tradition.”</p> - -<p>Again he turned to the leader:</p> - -<p>“I take it that you speak French. Speak to her and to me in it, and -satisfy yourself that we know it. Some of your men here are from -Albania, and undoubtedly they know Italian. She can talk with them in -that language. Will not all this prove to you that she has lived out of -Anatolia all her short life?”</p> - -<p>“Who are you then?” cried the leader, but before we could answer he -ordered us to remain quiet. He disappeared behind a sheep-skin, and -returned with a paper and pencil, which he handed to my brother. “Write -here your name and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>151</span> that of the little girl. Write also from where you -come, and whither you are going.”</p> - -<p>My brother wrote all he was asked to, and returned the paper to the -leader.</p> - -<p>The latter read it, surprise and anger mingling on his face. He turned -to me:</p> - -<p>“Your name?”</p> - -<p>I gave it.</p> - -<p>“Your brother’s?”</p> - -<p>I gave that, too.</p> - -<p>“Where have you come from?”</p> - -<p>I told him.</p> - -<p>“And where are you going?”</p> - -<p>Again I told him.</p> - -<p>He tore the paper into bits, in a fury.</p> - -<p>“Anathema on your heads, you idiot <i>pallikaria</i>!” he cried. “You -have captured the wrong people, while the others are now escaping us.”</p> - -<p>“I happen to have read in the paper,” put in Mano, “that Spiropoulo and -his sister are going by boat to Myrsina, and thence to their homes.”</p> - -<p>There was consternation among the bandits.</p> - -<p>“We have very little,” my brother continued. “Take what we have, and -let us go.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, please! please!” I implored, “do not take my ring. It is the only -piece of jewellery left to me.”</p> - -<p>“Here! here!” one of the men exclaimed;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>152</span> “we are not in the habit of -sheering lambs—it’s sheep’s wool we are after, eh, captain?”</p> - -<p>The leader did not reply to him. He was regarding us, more in sorrow -than in anger.</p> - -<p>“When I shook hands with you to-night,” he remarked, “I felt as if I -were shaking hands with thousands of golden pounds. And now——”</p> - -<p>He wagged his head, like a good man upon whom Fate has played a scurvy -trick.</p> - -<p>“We shall get Spiropoulo yet,” said one of the men hopefully. “He has -entirely too much money, and we have too little. Our motto is ‘Equal -Division.’”</p> - -<p>“You’re right, <i>pallikari</i>,” another assented, and the two shook -hands.</p> - -<p>By this time it was the small hours of the morning, and the party began -to break up.</p> - -<p>Some of the men rose to their feet, put on their <i>kosocks</i>, -saluted the leader, and started off on their business. By the entrance -was a large icon of St George, their patron saint. Each brigand, before -going out, halted in front of the icon, made the sign of the cross, and -reverently kissed the hand of the saint.</p> - -<p>“Come with me, my holy Saint,” each implored.</p> - -<p>I almost giggled at the idea of St George going with them and assisting -in the capture of harmless men.</p> - -<p>Then the lanterns in the cave were put out; but first two small oil -lamps were lighted, one to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>153</span> be placed in front of the icon of St -George, and the other in front of an icon of the Virgin Mary, which -stood in the depth of the cave; for no pious Greek will leave the icon -of a saint in darkness, and many poor persons will go without food in -order to buy the necessary “oil of <i>kandilla</i>” for their icons.</p> - -<p>All of the remaining brigands, before lying down on their sheep-skins, -stood for a minute in front of the icon of the Virgin silently saying -their prayers; and then I heard them saying aloud, after kissing the -feet of Mary:</p> - -<p>“Guard us and keep us healthy and strong, our dear little mother; and -now good night, little mistress of heaven.”</p> - -<p>They crossed themselves with a piety befitting monks, and I had to -stuff my handkerchief into my mouth to keep from betraying myself.</p> - -<p>Then slumber descended upon the cave. The fire had died down, and only -the dim rays of the two little oil lamps illumined the great room.</p> - -<p>It was harder for us to go to sleep than it was for the brigands. In -the first place, the sheep-skins they had given us were alive with -fleas. Mano lay close to me, keeping his arm around me.</p> - -<p>The events of the day had excited me tremendously, and my brain would -not rest. When we alone seemed to be awake, I whispered:</p> - -<p>“What was that blood which frightened our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>154</span> horses? Had the brigands -already killed some one?”</p> - -<p>“No, I believe it was only the blood of some animal. They often -sprinkle the road with it in order to terrorize the horses and assist -in capturing the travellers. But now you must go to sleep.”</p> - -<p>I was young; I had ridden many long hours; and fleas or no fleas, -brigands or no brigands, I fell asleep.</p> - -<p>The strong smell of coffee wakened me in the morning. My brother -already held a cup of it.</p> - -<p>“Did you sleep well?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I must have—but look at my hands!” They were dotted with red bites.</p> - -<p>The cave had lost something of its romantic appearance of the night. -There were only three brigands in the room, and they were busy -preparing food. One of them got a towel, or what served for one, put -a few drops of water on the end of it—water seemed to be very scarce -with them—and brought it to me to wash my face and hands. He was a -very kind young brigand. He brought me some food, and a cup of the -strongest coffee I ever tasted.</p> - -<p>He watched me eat as if he had been my nurse, and when I was finished, -asked a trifle sheepishly:</p> - -<p>“How did you learn so much poetry?”</p> - -<p>“Out of books,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Then you can write, too?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>155</span> -“Very well,” I asserted complacently.</p> - -<p>He became visibly embarrassed. Finally he blurted out:</p> - -<p>“Just write out for me the ‘Chani of Gravia.’ Write it twice—no, three -times, for I shall always want to read it two or three times.”</p> - -<p>I not only wrote it twice for him, but taught him to spell it out—or -rather to memorize it; for his scholarship was very rudimentary, while -his memory was excellent. I spent most of the time in this occupation.</p> - -<p>During the course of the day we were told, quite unsensationally, that -in the evening we might continue our journey.</p> - -<p>At nightfall we parted from the brigands with cordial expressions of -friendship on both sides. They shook hands with us, and many of them -assured us they had enjoyed our stay very much, and were sorry to see -us go. Only the leader was sulky in his manner. “I thought you two were -worth thousands of pounds,” he repeated grudgingly.</p> - -<p>“The ‘Chani of Gravia’ was worth all the trouble we took,” my pupil -hastened to say, as if he feared we might be hurt by the lack of -cordiality in his chief.</p> - -<p>We were again blindfolded, and two of the men led us out of the cave -and back to the place where they had captured us.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>156</span> -How they had obtained horses, I cannot imagine, but we found horses -waiting for us.</p> - -<p>I rode away with an exhilaration I could not calm.</p> - -<p>“If I were a man,” I said emphatically to my brother, “I should become -a brigand. It is a beautiful life.”</p> - -<p>For the leader, with his curling hair and his black moustache, I felt -an especial admiration, in spite of his stand-offishness. He was long -my ideal of a hero; and it was one of the bitterest disappointments of -my girlhood when, some years later, in a fight between his band and an -overwhelming number of Turkish soldiers, he alone of all his men put up -a pitiful fight, and died like a coward.</p> - -<p>I wept when I read about it, not for him, but for my lost ideal—for -the trust and admiration I had placed on a man not worthy to be a -leader of Greek brigands.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>157</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xiv">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<span>ALI BABA, MY CAÏQUE-TCHI</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">O</span>UR return journey to Constantinople was uneventful. There we found our -mother, who had decided to spend the winter in the town and not on the -island. I was not supposed to be well enough yet to resume my studies -seriously. My brother left us shortly for Europe again.</p> - -<p>It would have been a dreary and miserable winter for me, away from my -home and the country, separated from my playmates and cooped up in -small city rooms, with only buildings to look at on all sides, had it -not been for a discovery I made. By accident I stumbled upon a big -volume of Byzantine history, a history, till then, practically unknown -to me.</p> - -<p>As page after page gave forth its treasures, my interest in the people -of which it wrote increased, and loneliness and boredom departed, not -to return again that winter. After I finished the book it came over me -that all these marvellous things I had been reading about had taken -place yonder, at Stamboul, half an hour from where I sat. Instantly -the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>158</span> desire took possession of me to re-read that history, chapter -by chapter, then cross over to Stamboul and find the actual places -mentioned.</p> - -<p>This was not so easy to accomplish as one might think; for I had to -reckon with the elders, who would have a thousand and one objections to -my going over to the Turkish city. I went immediately to my mother, and -without any preamble—which I knew to be the best way, in order to take -her breath away—told her of my project, speaking of it casually as if -it were as simple as drinking a glass of water.</p> - -<p>She gave me the puzzled look with which she often regarded my little -person. I believe that every time I came before her she wondered anew -how I happened to be her child; for she was tall and beautiful, and -very conventional in her desires, and I was small and elfish, and -my desires were usually for things she could not imagine any person -wanting. After I had finished speaking, she replied quietly:</p> - -<p>“What you ask is out of the question; for we have no one, you know, who -can waste so much time every week accompanying you.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want anyone,” I replied. “I would much rather go alone.”</p> - -<p>The puzzled expression in her eyes deepened. “Go alone—over there? But -I have never been there alone in all my life.”</p> - -<p>“I know that, mamma, but you know perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>159</span> well that there are a -great many things you never did, or will ever bring yourself to do, -which I have already done. Besides,” I pleaded, “my father is dead now; -my brother is away; you took me from my home and brought me to this -horrid town, and you don’t even let me go to school on account of my -weak lungs—and what is there left for me to do?”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” my mother compromised, “you had better let me think it -over, child.”</p> - -<p>The result of her thinking culminated in my being accompanied to the -former capital of the great Byzantine Empire by an uninterested and -unsympathetic female elder.</p> - -<p>It was an utter failure, this my first attempt at archæological -research. The elder, besides being unsympathetic, had a supercilious -way of talking, and prided herself on her ignorance. Before the -afternoon was at an end she became tired and cross, and then coaxed me, -saying: “Why don’t we go and see the lovely jewels and silks in the -market, and there I shall treat you to a plate of <i>taouk-okshu</i>.”</p> - -<p>I agreed at once, not because I was willing to sell my Byzantine -interests for a plate of sweets, but because her presence spoiled my -pleasure.</p> - -<p>That evening my mother and I had a conversation of an animated nature, -a conversation which was continued the next day and yet the next,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>160</span> -and grew more animated with each session, until on my side it reached -stormy heights—and my mother’s nature abhorred storms; so I obtained -the coveted permission of going alone to the city of Byzantium.</p> - -<p>“Mind though, baby,” she cautioned, “don’t ever cross the Golden Horn -in a boat. You must always go by the bridge.”</p> - -<p>It had not occurred to me to take the boat, but once the suggestion -was made, it took possession of my brain, and tormented it to such an -extent that on arriving at the Galata Bridge my feet turned straight -to the quay where the Turkish boatmen were squatted, contemplatively -“drinking” their <i>narghiles</i>.</p> - -<p>“A boat!” I commanded, imitating as far as possible my mother’s manner.</p> - -<p>The first man of the row put aside his <i>narghile</i> and rose -quietly. Unlike all the other nationalities in Turkey, the Turks alone -never jostle each other for a fare. They have a system of their own -which they scrupulously adhere to.</p> - -<p>The <i>caïque-tchi</i> who approached at my summons was an old man. -He was dressed in full baggy trousers, and wore a white turban on his -head. He must have been already old when Sultan Medjid, thirty years -previously, had substituted the fez for the turban, and he had not -cared to adopt the new head-dress.</p> - -<p>“What does the little <i>hanoum</i> wish?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>161</span> -“To cross,” I replied, with the same haughty manner as before.</p> - -<p>He bent down, unfastened the rope with which his slender, graceful -little <i>caïque</i> was tied, and I stepped into it and settled myself -blissfully among the cushions in the bottom.</p> - -<p>Before he had rowed me half-way over I remembered that I had forgotten -to strike a bargain with him. “By the way,” I said casually, “what is -your fare?”</p> - -<p>“A <i>kourous</i> and a half” (threepence) he said promptly.</p> - -<p>“<em>What!</em>” I cried. “If you are not ready to accept half that, you -may just as well take me back.”</p> - -<p>He stopped rowing. “Take you back! But where would be the profit?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” I replied, “but that’s the answer the dead philosopher -made to Charon.”</p> - -<p>“If he were dead, how could he make an answer?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Thereupon I found myself in my most favourite pastime—initiating -somebody into the Greek writings; and as I explained to him Lucian’s -“Dialogues of the Dead,” the old Turk listened intently, paddling very -slowly, slightly bending toward me, his kind eyes twinkling, his face -wreathed in smiles—looking very much like a nice, big, red apple, -shrivelled by the frost and sun.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>162</span> -By the time I had finished the story of the philosopher, we were -approaching the other side of the Golden Horn.</p> - -<p>“You see,” I concluded, “you get more than Charon did out of the -transaction; and besides, since I am going over there three times a -week, you may become my regular boatman, and if you are over here with -a fare at sunset you may wait for me, and take me back, too—only then -I shall pay you one <i>para</i> less.”</p> - -<p>It was not because I was of a miserly disposition that I was bargaining -so hard; but I had only one <i>medjedié</i> a month, and the elders -invariably borrowed a part of it back from me, so that I was always in -straitened circumstances.</p> - -<p>“Why are you going over there so often?” he asked kindly.</p> - -<p>I liked his baggy bloomers, of the colour of the stained glass windows -one sees in the old cathedrals; I liked his being faithful to the -turban, and I fell in love with his kind, beaming old face. Besides, -the way he enjoyed the story of the philosopher and Charon convinced -me that he was not like most of the dreadful elders—so I told him the -reason.</p> - -<p>His oars again became suspended in the air, and he listened with intent -interest.</p> - -<p>“Is it in the Koran you read all those things?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” I said, “in a book bigger than the Koran.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>163</span> -“How can that be?” he asked incredulously.</p> - -<p>Then I amplified, and told him of Constantine the Great, of how he left -Rome to build a new city, hundreds and hundreds of years before the -Turks had even thought of leaving Asia and invading Europe.</p> - -<p>His attention to my words delighted me. I had not been so happy for -ever so long; for next to reading books I loved to impart them, since -in the telling I tasted them better. They became clearer to me. -Besides, sharing things from books is a joy to which there is nothing -comparable.</p> - -<p>“You can read all this?” he exclaimed admiringly, “you, who are no -bigger than my thumb! But then your people could always read, though -they were no kind of fighters and we beat them.”</p> - -<p>He did not mean to be rude, I knew. It was his direct, oriental way of -stating a fact, and I did not resent it. But I did explain to him that -in the past we had been <em>very</em> great fighters—though I kindly -abstained from telling him how we had fought them in the Revolution, -and how we beat them.</p> - -<p>That he was genuinely interested he proved to me when we landed.</p> - -<p>“<i>Benim kuchouk, hanoum</i> (my little lady) I should love to be -your <i>caïque-tchi</i>, both ways, and I shall charge you only two -<i>paras</i> for each crossing, if you will only tell me what you are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>164</span> -going to see every day, and whether you found it over yonder.”</p> - -<p>I extended my microscopic hand, and he took it solemnly in his big, -horny brown one.</p> - -<p>“You are a dear, Ali Baba,” I cried. I did not know what his name was, -but Father Ali seemed to suit him.</p> - -<p>Byzantine history, combined with my search in old Byzantium, and Ali -Baba’s rapt attention to my expounding of it, made that winter a very -happy one. I generally returned when the city was bathed in the sunset -light; and these hours with Ali Baba, listening, his oars poised over -the waters of the Golden Horn—truly golden at this hour—were hours of -enchantment for me. How could we help becoming fast friends, sharing -as we did such magical moments together. I liked him so much that I -began to economize and make him presents I thought he needed, such as -a new shirt, a new pair of stockings, a new cloth for his turban; and -it almost broke my heart when one evening, as he was landing me on the -Constantinople side, he, too, made me a present. It was a very gaudy -red and blue handkerchief, filled with raisins and <i>leblebia</i>—a -delectable grain only to be found in Turkey.</p> - -<p>I accepted these, apparently delighted, yet wondering what I was to -do with them. It would have been impossible to enter the house and -go to my room without having to explain the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>165</span> handkerchief and its -contents—and the handkerchief would mean telling about the crossings -in the boat, and I did not wish to contemplate what would follow that -disclosure.</p> - -<p>With a great deal of heart-aching I had to dispose of the sweets. I -gave them to some urchins in the street, and my ache in a measure was -relieved by the joy they manifested.</p> - -<p>Although this was the only winter I travelled with Ali Baba, I never -forgot him. Indeed the bond between us was too great lightly to forget; -and when I came to town I always managed to save a half hour for him. -I would go directly to the quay, and if he were not there I would wait -for him till he came back from the other side. If he were there, he -always rose quickly, unfastened his little <i>caïque</i>, and off we -were; only to stop in mid-stream, his oars poised in the air, his kind -eyes twinkling, his mouth half-opened with a smile, listening to the -things I had to say of books and of travels.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>166</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xv">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<span>MY LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE following year I was sent to Paris for my studies, where I was -to remain three whole years, without returning home; yet on my first -summer holidays my mother changed her mind and sent for me. That -summer, too, we were not to spend at our home on the island, but in -Pantich, an adorable, sleepy, little Turkish village, on the Asiatic -shore of the Marmora.</p> - -<p>Pantich is as far behind the rest of Turkey as the rest of Turkey -is behind Europe. Its traditions are those of the Byzantine period, -when Constantinople was the capital of the Greek Empire. The Turkish -quarters cluster around the <i>Tzami</i>, which is built in a square of -plantain trees, with a fountain in the middle. The Greek houses make a -belt around their little Orthodox Church, with a school on its right -and a cemetery on its left.</p> - -<p>And though the Turks and the Greeks are divided like the goats and the -sheep, all men wear the fez, and all women veil their faces.</p> - -<p>Only one event ever happened in Pantich:<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>167</span> the coming of the railroad -through it. Small wonder that, when the trains began to run, the -inhabitants brought their luncheons and sat all day long close to the -rails, waiting to see the wonderful thing pass, which ran of its own -accord, with a speed beyond the dreams of the fastest horse. Small -wonder, too, that the rents of the houses near the track began to go up -like speculative stocks in a Wall Street boom.</p> - -<p>The house we took belonged to a Turkish lady, who became at once the -great interest of my life, although she was never to be seen. We heard -that she was the former wife of dashing young Nouri Pasha, whom we -knew on the island of Prinkipo, and who was famous for his looks, his -riches, and his many beautiful wives. We transacted our business with -her through one of her slaves. The lady herself had never been seen -since the day she left her husband, eight years before, and came to -bury herself in her maternal property here.</p> - -<p>Our house was surrounded by a very large garden and an orchard, the -trees of which were so old and so patched that I was never surprised on -climbing a cherry tree to find plums growing there, or at the top of -a plum tree to discover <i>dzidzifa</i>. It became a game with me to -climb the highest trees, to see what would grow on the top branches. -These trees were grafted with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>168</span> greatest ingenuity, not for the -fruit, but for the colour scheme in blossom time.</p> - -<p>At the end of our orchard there was a drop of about eight feet, and -there began the garden surrounding the house where our proprietess -lived. It must have comprised a hundred acres, and ended at the sea. It -was not cultivated, like the other properties, but was mostly woodland, -with flowers in the clearings. What I could see of it fascinated and -attracted me. I had an idea that if I could penetrate into that garden -I should surprise the spirits of the flowers and trees, who, thinking -themselves protected from human intrusion, must come forth from their -earthly shells to parade under their own shadow.</p> - -<p>We had been in our new, old house for two weeks, and when I was neither -reading nor climbing the trees I was scheming how to get into the -garden. In all my reconnoitring I had never seen or heard a human being -in that garden below, and if I had not known that people lived there I -should have thought the property abandoned.</p> - -<p>My mother went away for the week-end. It was early afternoon, and -the entire universe was at siesta. I chose that hour to make a still -closer search for a means of getting down those eight feet, to roam the -beckoning garden. If discovered, of course, I should have to pretend -that I had fallen in accidentally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>169</span> -I came as near to the edge as I could, and before I knew it, down went -the stones under my feet, and down went I, followed by more stones. In -falling my teeth cut my lip, and made it bleed.</p> - -<p>I lay partially stunned, but certain I was not badly hurt; for all my -limbs had answered to the call of my little brain. Then I heard the -pit-pat of running feet, and waited to see what would happen.</p> - -<p>A young woman came and bent over me.</p> - -<p>“<i>Yavroum</i>, are you hurt?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“But you are bleeding!” she exclaimed in a horrified tone.</p> - -<p>She was joined by another woman, somewhat older, who was out of breath -from running.</p> - -<p>“Is she dead?” she cried.</p> - -<p>“It will take more than this to kill me,” I declared, and moved to get -up.</p> - -<p>“No! no! Be still. We will carry you to our mistress,” they commanded.</p> - -<p>Willingly I obeyed. One took hold of my shoulders, and the other of -my feet, and they carried me to a small summer-house, in a grove of -cypresses. A tall slender woman dressed in the green of the grass half -rose from a couch.</p> - -<p>“Is she hurt, Leila?” she asked, and it was as if I were a little -bird fallen from its nest, so remote and impersonal was the interest -manifested in her voice. If at the time I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>170</span> had been familiar with -Maeterlinck, I should have thought that I was a minor actor in one of -his unreal plays, and the lady in green the leading character.</p> - -<p>“She’s bleeding, mistress.”</p> - -<p>“Then you had better carry her into the house.”</p> - -<p>She rose and preceded us. Her walk, like her speech, seemed remote from -common earth, and to my half-closed eyes she seemed to float along, not -to proceed step by step, as do common mortals.</p> - -<p>They carried me into the vast hall of her house, paved with cement, -and ending in a balcony overhanging the sea of Marmora, and laid me -on a couch. The mistress of the house sat by me, and touched my cheek -lightly with one of her fingers.</p> - -<p>“Get some fresh water, Leila,” she commanded.</p> - -<p>The younger of the two slaves lifted an iron cover in the middle of the -hall, and dropped down an old black iron bucket, which, after a long -minute, touched water in the depths of the earth. The water she brought -me was icy cold. They bathed my mouth, and put a wet towel on my head. -Inwardly I was laughing at all this attention; but I was quite content.</p> - -<p>When the bleeding stopped, the lady ordered a sherbet. It was made of -fresh cherries, cool and sweet, and I ate it with great relish. Then -the lady in her soft, remote voice crooned:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>171</span> -“You are the baby of my new tenants, are you not?”</p> - -<p>“I am not a baby,” I answered, insulted. “I’m quite grown up, only I’m -undersized—and all my frocks are three years old. But because they -are in good condition, and I can’t outgrow them enough, I must keep on -wearing them.”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “I have been watching you since you came here, and it -seems to me wonderful that you haven’t been killed several times. Why -do you keep on climbing those trees?”</p> - -<p>“To get my afternoon tea up there,” I answered. “Besides which it keeps -me thin.”</p> - -<p>The light of amusement danced in her eyes, but she did not laugh again.</p> - -<p>“I can see what you think in your eyes,” I said. “You think that what -I need is fattening. My family takes care of that; for I am made to -swallow everything from <i>vin de quinquina</i> to any other drug they -may see advertised, with or without the consent of the doctor. And if I -were to get fat they would then start on the opposite drugs.”</p> - -<p>At this she burst forth into peals of laughter, and in the midst of her -laughing she said: “I do believe you are older than you look.”</p> - -<p>I gave a jump and sat upright. The two slaves, who were standing over -me with their arms crossed, exclaimed in unison: “She must not move, -mistress, she must not move!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>172</span> -“Now lie down, like a little dear, and tell me how old you are.”</p> - -<p>“To show you how old I am,” I said proudly and priggishly, “I may tell -you that I have finished my Greek studies, and have been a year in -Paris. I return there again in September.”</p> - -<p>“In Paris! You have been in Paris?” she asked reverently, losing some -of the remoteness in her voice.</p> - -<p>I was pleased to notice the interest I was arousing in her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I have been there several times before, only now I am there as a -student.”</p> - -<p>“I am going to send word to your mother that you fell into my garden, -that you are a little hurt, and that I shall keep you all the -afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t trouble yourself,” I said, “for there’s nobody at home but -the maids. I shall be all alone for two days now.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” Her eyes shone with pleasure. “Then perhaps you would like to -spend those two days with me?”</p> - -<p>“I should love to,” I cried, “but I must first make a little -confession.”</p> - -<p>She leaned over me and forced me to lie down. She was still quite -Maeterlinckian.</p> - -<p>“What is your confession?”</p> - -<p>“The reason I fell into your garden,” I proceeded very quickly, “was -because I was reconnoitring how to manage to fall into it. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>173</span> wanted -very much to see your garden—and you.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“For many reasons,” I answered diplomatically.</p> - -<p>“Give them to me.”</p> - -<p>“W-e-l-l, you have lived here for years now, without ever leaving the -place.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know of anyone in Pantich who ever does leave it.”</p> - -<p>“Y-e-s, I know; but you are different.”</p> - -<p>She leaned over me with the look of a severe fairy in her large dark -eyes.</p> - -<p>“You just tell me why you wished to see me.”</p> - -<p>“All the truth?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“All the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Well, for the romance which surrounds you. You left Nouri Pasha and -his beautiful houses to come and live here, in this very old house, in -a place where nothing ever happens. Besides I imagined you to be very -beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“And do you find me as beautiful as you thought me?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. All I can think of when I look at you is—a fountain——”</p> - -<p>“To call <em>me</em> a fountain is almost like a wicked jest,” she -interrupted. “A fountain gives constantly forth the riches of its -waters.”</p> - -<p>“But the fountain you remind me of had no waters. It was a big -fountain, in the middle of which sat a bronze lady looking exactly like -you.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>174</span> The waters were to pour forth from her two extended hands—but -none came. The gardener told me they had lost the key, and they had -never been able to unlock it. And, as there were many more fountains in -the place, they did not bother.”</p> - -<p>A cloud passed over her face.</p> - -<p>“Then I <em>am</em> like your fountain.”</p> - -<p>She sat drooping, her hands clasped in her lap, gazing before her with -that gaze which sees not the seen world. At length she shook off this -mood and turned to the slave:</p> - -<p>“Leila, go to the little bird’s home, and say she is with us, and that -I shall keep her till her mother returns. And you, Mihri, can go and -make the room next to mine ready for this little child.”</p> - -<p>“Please don’t call me ‘little child,’” I exclaimed. “I am fourteen -years old, and at my age my great-grandmother was married and had a -son.”</p> - -<p>She paid no heed to my words, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts.</p> - -<p>“When you go to Paris somebody accompanies you, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Not always. I know all the captains of the Fabre Line, and all the -officers. I am placed in their care, and at Marseilles I take the -train, and reach Paris the same day, where I am met. Anyway, I could go -to the end of the world by myself.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>175</span> -The word Paris seemed to possess the power to give her whatever -semblance to life she could acquire.</p> - -<p>“But sometimes somebody may go with you as a companion—yes?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I assented.</p> - -<p>She rose, and crossing the vast hall, stood on the balcony overhanging -the sea. When she came back to me her eyes seemed changed. They were -larger, deeper, and full of mystery. She was more than ever like the -Lady of the Locked Fountain.</p> - -<p>“I am very glad you fell to-day into my garden. I think—I—shall like -you.” She sat down comfortably by me, cross-legged, her long string of -amber beads held in her clasped hands. “Tell me, what do you do with -the books you are so interested in when you are not trying to dig your -grave by climbing the trees?”</p> - -<p>“I read them,” I answered puzzled.</p> - -<p>“Read? Read what?”</p> - -<p>“Just read,” I answered again. “Don’t you read?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you ever read anything?” I exclaimed, for my own life was made -up of books. Then the suspicion came to me that perhaps she did not -know how. “Can’t you read?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I learned when I was a child; and I can still<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>176</span> read the Koran, where I -know it pretty well, and some poetry.”</p> - -<p>“Then you do read poetry?”</p> - -<p>“Not now; for I know my poems by heart.”</p> - -<p>I stared at her in amazement. “You don’t know by heart all the poems in -the world, do you?”</p> - -<p>“No, unless all the poems in the world are ten,” she answered smiling.</p> - -<p>I pondered a minute over her state of mind. “I think I should go mad -unless I had books to read,” I observed.</p> - -<p>“What is in them?” she asked, more simply than I had ever asked about -anything in my life. At that moment she was a pure Asiatic, descended -from a thousand Asiatic ancestors, from whom the books have kept their -secrets. “What is in them?” she repeated. “Aren’t they all alike?”</p> - -<p>“Each book is the history of a human being, or of a whole race; and -sometimes it takes books and books to tell you about the one or the -other.”</p> - -<p>“How many have you read in all?”</p> - -<p>“Thousands,” I answered vaingloriously.</p> - -<p>“And do you love them all?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head. “No, there are horrid books, as there are horrid -people; but most of them are beautiful, full of the lives and stories -of people who have lived and dreamed and done things in the world.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me some of them.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>177</span> -She bent her head and listened, while I told her some of my favourite -tales; and as I talked she became excited, and laughed when the stories -were funny, and cried if they were sad.</p> - -<p>During the two days I spent with her, I related many of the books I had -read; and at the end of my stay we were close friends, for if I was a -child in years she was one in experience. And she was so delightfully -simple, with a simplicity which must have made God glad to have created -human beings.</p> - -<p>If she was ignorant of books, she was curiously full of ideas -concerning things she had observed. Because she lived in solitude and -watched the sky, she knew all the stars—not by their scientific names, -but by ones she invented for herself. As we sat on the balcony over the -water she told me that at certain seasons of the year a large luminous -star kept watch over the opposite side of the Marmora. She called it -the Heavenly Lily, and knew the exact hour it appeared every night, and -how long it would stay. She told me that the coming of certain stars -had to do with the growth of certain flowers and crops. She spoke of -them not as stars, but as heavenly watchers, whose earthly worshippers -were the flowers. The water she referred to as the earth’s milk. She -disliked the winds, but she loved the storms, “because they proved -that Allah could lose his temper. It is nice,” she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>178</span> added in a very -low tone, as if afraid that he might hear her, “it’s nice to feel that -Allah himself has failings.”</p> - -<p>But if she were ready to talk of her thoughts, there was a certain -aloofness about her which exempted her personal affairs from -discussion. Indeed I still had the impression of talking with the -bronze lady of the fountain. This attitude of hers several times -arrested on the tip of my tongue the sentence: “Why did you leave -handsome Nouri Pasha?”</p> - -<p>Just before I went away, she asked, <i>à propos</i> of nothing, “When -do you leave for Paris?”</p> - -<p>“At the end of September, or may be the first week in October.”</p> - -<p>“It is a very long way off,” she murmured, half to herself.</p> - -<p>“It will pass quickly enough.”</p> - -<p>She remained silent, in that silence which is full of whispers. One -felt the talking of her thoughts.</p> - -<p>After this first visit it became a habit of hers to send for me often -to spend entire afternoons with her. She let me climb her trees and -gather fruit for our afternoon meal, while the slaves drew cool water -from the well.</p> - -<p>When our friendship was a few weeks old I asked her: “Do you like -living here all alone in this old house? Nouri Pasha has so many other -houses, both on the island and on the Bosphorus,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>179</span> which are ever so -much nicer than this old one. Why don’t you take one of those?”</p> - -<p>“This is not Nouri Pasha’s house,” she corrected me. “This is my -own house. I was born here, and I love it. You mustn’t call it old, -otherwise it will be offended, and its shadow will grow dark when you -come into it.”</p> - -<p>I did not say anything for a while, and it was she who spoke again.</p> - -<p>“You know Nouri Pasha then?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. He lives near us on the island, and I love the horses he -rides. They are so large and shiny; and I can tell it is his carriage -from very far off, because he has so many unnecessary chains on the -harness, which dangle and make a fuss.”</p> - -<p>She laughed like a child at this description, and I, encouraged by the -laugh, asked boldly:</p> - -<p>“Did you love him very much?”</p> - -<p>“I think so,” she replied simply.</p> - -<p>“Frightfully?”</p> - -<p>The girlish adverb amused her.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps—even so.”</p> - -<p>As she said the last words her voice became remote, her eyes took on -their unhuman expression, and she turned again into the Lady of the -Fountain. Yet her lips opened, and she said:</p> - -<p>“Tell me a story, fairy child, a story about Paris.”</p> - -<p>And because Alexander Dumas <i>père</i> has lived<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>180</span> and written, I could -tell her of France in dazzling colours, and in dazzling deeds. In the -midst of my story she broke in:</p> - -<p>“Have you ever seen—” She stopped abruptly. “Go on, go on, dear. -Forgive me for interrupting.”</p> - -<p>“Have I ever seen what?” I insisted.</p> - -<p>A forbidding look made me continue my story.</p> - -<p>She became a regular part of my life. I even was obedient at home, for -fear that as a punishment I might be kept from her. As soon as luncheon -was over, I would lie down for my hour of rest, then dress quickly and -go to the place where I had first fallen into her garden. There we now -had two ropes fastened, for me to slide down. Sometimes she would even -be there, ready to catch me before I touched the ground.</p> - -<p>We were fast friends, yet our friendship partook of the unreal, since -she never gave me anything except her impersonal thoughts. Of her past -life she never spoke, and her heart was as withheld from me as the -waters of the fountain to which I had compared her.</p> - -<p>Again one day she began: “Have you ever seen—” and again broke off, -and insisted that she had meant to say nothing, and apologized for not -knowing what she wanted to say.</p> - -<p>I pondered a good deal over the unfinished phrase, and finally thought -I had found the end of it. So one afternoon when she began for the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>181</span> -third time, “Have you ever seen—” and stopped, I added—“Nouri Pasha’s -other three wives? Yes, I have seen them, and if I were a man I’d -gladly give all three of them to get you.”</p> - -<p>She turned squarely upon me, a look of amazement in her deep brown -eyes, which at the moment were full of the light of the sun and -appeared golden. Then she exploded into laughter. Peal followed peal, -and I was cross at her for making me appear stupid when I had thought -myself so clever.</p> - -<p>“Just what made you think this?”</p> - -<p>Out of my anger, I answered brutally: “Well, it is quite natural that -you should want to know about the women who have supplanted you.”</p> - -<p>The instant the words were uttered I repented of them, and I should -have tried to gain her pardon, except that she did not even seem to -have noticed my brutality.</p> - -<p>“I know how they look,” she said calmly: “and men would not agree -with you about the exchange. Besides they are all younger than I, the -youngest is only three years older than you—only as old as I was when -I was married.”</p> - -<p>Her voice had been growing colder and colder, and the chill of November -frost was on the last word. Fortunately Leila came in with her zither -to sing and play. When the time came for me to go away, my friend -kissed and patted me for a long time, and said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>182</span> -“When the <i>hanoum</i>, your mother, goes away again, will she not let -you come and stay with me, if I send word I will be responsible for -your neck?”</p> - -<p>Thus it came about that whenever my mother went off for a week-end, I -found myself the guest of my Lady of the Fountain, and slept in the -little room off hers. During one of these visits, she came in at night, -and sat down near my bed.</p> - -<p>“When you go to Paris this time, some one will accompany you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“No, I am going alone.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “No, no, you will have some one with you, for I am -going with you.”</p> - -<p>I was amazed to the point of speechlessness. When I regained my tongue -I exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“You know perfectly well that the government will never permit it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. That is why I shall not ask the government. I have always wanted -to see the world, and especially Paris. I never saw how I could do it -till you fell into my garden—and I know that I can trust you.”</p> - -<p>“But how will you manage it?”</p> - -<p>“I shall be your companion.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t, you speak neither Greek nor French. Every one will guess -you are Turkish.”</p> - -<p>“I can be an Armenian, and as for French I am going to learn it. We -have time. You can teach me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>183</span> -Nothing delighted me more than an adventure—and such an uncommon one. -Until late into the night we talked about her trip, studying it in its -various aspects. We decided that I should first write to the convent -where I stayed in Paris to ask if they would take an Armenian lady. -Later I was to write to the Compagnie Fabre and engage her stateroom. -“But the passport,” I cried suddenly. “You must have a passport, you -know, to leave Turkey.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that I have thought of, and I have it all arranged. You know -Sourpouy, the Armenian girl, the lace-vendor of the village? She is -tall like me, with brown hair and brown eyes. I shall ask her to go to -Athens for me, to buy me some laces there. I shall pay her expenses, -and a good commission. She must, of course, have a <i>teskeré</i>—yes?”</p> - -<p>“Naturally.”</p> - -<p>“Well, she will get it. She will bring it here. I will examine it, and -so will Leila. While she examines it, she smokes; but Leila is very -awkward—the paper comes near her match, and it burns. You see?”</p> - -<p>“I see, only——”</p> - -<p>“Only what burns is not the passport. I am very angry. I scold Leila, -and then Leila says: ‘It is an omen for you not to send poor Sourpouy, -because it means that Sourpouy is going to drown.’ And that makes -Sourpouy very superstitious.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>184</span> She will not get another passport, even -when I promise more commission—and in this manner, you see, I am left -with my passport.”</p> - -<p>We laughed happily over her plans, and she astonished me with her -common sense and practical knowledge. And she, who had done no studying -since she was a little girl, applied herself to learning French like a -poor but ambitious student.</p> - -<p>She arranged the twenty-four letters of the French alphabet in three -rows, on a large sheet of paper, and learned them all in two days. Then -she cut a hole in another sheet of paper just large enough to permit a -single letter to show through, and slipped this about over the alphabet -at random, in order to make sure she knew the different letters without -regard to their relative positions. In two weeks she was reading -fluently in a child’s book of stories I had brought her. Of course she -did not understand all she was reading, but her progress, nevertheless, -was marvellous. Since then I have taught many persons French, but never -one who learned it so quickly, and her melodious Turkish accent made -the French very sweet to hear.</p> - -<p>A dressmaker was engaged to make her some European clothes. This would -arouse no suspicion, since Turkish women often amused themselves by -having a European dress or two made for indoor use. And I was to buy -her a hat and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>185</span> a veil. “If it is not becoming to me, I can buy another -in Athens when the boat stops there,” she said.</p> - -<p>Our plan was for her to stay all the winter in Paris, and return with -me in the spring; or, if she got tired of Paris, to return with me at -Christmas. Her slaves were devoted to her. Leila was her foster-sister, -and a childless widow, and knew of no other happiness than to serve -her mistress; and Mihri, who was the elder sister of Leila, knew of no -other happiness than to serve the two younger women. The two sisters -were to stay at home and pretend that their mistress was ailing, and -since she hardly ever went out of the house, or received anyone, it -would be an easy matter to hide from the world that the former wife of -Nouri Pasha was away from home.</p> - -<p>Our talks now were entirely about our journey. Yet there were times -when, with her fingers clasped, and watching the ships on the far -horizon, she would lose herself in reverie. Then she seemed to be -suddenly inexplicably sad. Once when I was spending a week-end with -her, she passed the entire afternoon gazing at the sea, her face -immobile and lifeless.</p> - -<p>After I had gone to bed that night, she came to me as was her custom, -and kneeled by me to kiss me good night. Of a sudden she put her arms -around me, and said quickly, as if she were afraid of her own words:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>186</span> -“<i>Yavroum</i>, have you ever seen Nouri Pasha’s children?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I answered, “I have seen them all: the three little girls, and -the tiny little boy.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me about them.”</p> - -<p>I told her all I knew, and especially of the little man who was less -than a year old. I had seen him just before we came to spend the summer -in Pantich. His mother had been ill ever since his birth and could not -nurse him, and thus he had a French <i>nounou</i>, who wore yards and -yards of ribbon on her bonnet.</p> - -<p>That night was the first time that my Lady of the Fountain was -pathetically human. She thirsted for every scrap of news I was able to -give her about these children who were not hers, but the man’s who had -put her aside. When she left me she did not go to her own room, but -downstairs, and I heard her opening the door leading out on the terrace -below. Thinking about her I fell asleep, and when, several hours later, -I awoke again, the pathos of her life was magnified to me by the -darkness and stillness of the night. I rose from my bed, and went to -her room, to tell her how much <em>I</em> at least loved her.</p> - -<p>She was not there, and her bed was undisturbed.</p> - -<p>Where could she be? I crept cautiously downstairs, and through the open -doorway out on the terrace.</p> - -<p>She sat huddled in a corner, watching the sea,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>187</span> in the same attitude -which had been hers all that day. Quietly I sat down beside her, my -arms stealing around her. She did not speak to me at once, and when she -did her voice was unsteady, and shaking with unshed tears.</p> - -<p>“Everything has a purpose in life—even the stars so high and -remote—and I alone am purposeless. Just because I lost my husband’s -savage love, I left him, without a word, without an explanation, as if -the brutal side of life were all that existed between man and woman. -If I had stayed, in spite of the second wife, I might have been of use -to him, for I had a good influence over him—and Allah might then have -given me a child.” She buried her face in her hands. “Allah! I am so -useless—so useless!” she moaned.</p> - -<p>The silence of the night alone answered her, and I, having no words to -comfort her grief, took one of her jasmine-scented hands and kissed it.</p> - -<p>Next morning my Lady of the Fountain had quite recovered her composure, -and even talked of her coming Paris escapade, but she was pale and worn -out, like a battered ship which has met with a storm.</p> - -<p>A few days later I came to bid her good-bye, for this time I was going -with my mother on a visit to the island. She put her arms around me as -if she did not wish to let me go. Wistfully she said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>188</span> -“When you are on the island, could you go to Nouri Pasha’s house?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Then go and see the little boy. Kiss him, and bring me a kiss from -him. Will you?”</p> - -<p>On the day after my arrival on the island I went to the pines, where -all the children are taken, but the little fellow was not there. The -nurses of his sisters told me that his mother was worse, and wished him -kept in the garden so that she could see him from the window.</p> - -<p>Thereupon I went to Nouri Pasha’s house. The Bréton nurse in all her -finery was seated under an awning, the baby on her lap. I talked with -her awhile, and begged her to let me hold the baby, which she did. It -was a sweet baby, and strong.</p> - -<p>“Is his mother better?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“She will never be better, I fear.”</p> - -<p>Just then a bell rang out of a window above us, and the nurse got up -and took the baby from me, saying:</p> - -<p>“That is for me to bring him to his mother.”</p> - -<p>After she had gone I picked up a rattle the baby had dropped to give it -to some one. I could find no one about, and the idea came to me to keep -it and take it to my Lady of the Fountain.</p> - -<p>Two days later when I entered her apartment and presented it to her, -saying it was a present<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>189</span> I had brought her from the island, she took it -and examined it with a puzzled expression. Being a European rattle she -did not know what it was.</p> - -<p>“What am I to do with it?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“To play with it,” and seeing her more puzzled still I explained to her -what it was, and how I had got it.</p> - -<p>She patted it affectionately. “Pretty little toy!” she murmured; -“pretty little toy! I believe it is warm yet from the baby touch.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Our French lessons made great progress, and her preparations for Paris -were completed. The scheme for obtaining a passport worked without -a hitch, and word had come from the convent that the lady could be -accommodated.</p> - -<p>At last September was with us, and its coming that year was cold and -dreary. The tramontana blew daily, the flowers lost their colour and -perfume, and the grass turned pale. Already under the eaves one could -hear the bustling swallows, and on a particularly cold day news came, -somehow, that Nouri Pasha’s youngest wife was dead.</p> - -<p>My Lady of the Fountain wept as if the girl had been her only child; -and between her tears and sobs she kept saying:</p> - -<p>“She was only seventeen—and beloved—and the mother of a boy. And now -she is dead,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>190</span> leaving the little one motherless. How cruel! How cruel! -And yet Allah must be just.”</p> - -<p>After this event a great change came over her. She was not sad, since -it is forbidden Turkish women to continue their sadness for more than a -day or two; yet she was not herself. She was constantly thinking, and -her thoughts were not restful. I felt that she did not wish me, and -stayed away.</p> - -<p>Then she sent for me. I found her in her own room, writing, the floor -littered with torn paper.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>yavroum</i>!” she exclaimed, “I am trying to compose a letter, -but it does not come. I have never composed one before. How do you do -it?”</p> - -<p>“You simply say what you have to say.”</p> - -<p>“And if what you have to say is that for which your heart cries, how do -you say it?”</p> - -<p>“You say it in the words your heart uses.”</p> - -<p>She pondered my advice.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, you are right. Make no phrases. Just sit down, -<i>yavroum</i>.” She wrote feverishly, and in a few minutes gave a -sigh. “It is done!”</p> - -<p>She folded the paper and put it in her bosom. She was very nice to me, -but said nothing further of the letter, and refused to read any French.</p> - -<p>Leila came and played to her, and I went home without learning anything -more about it. As it was now the middle of September, and we were to -go in ten days, I had my own preparations to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>191</span> make, and did not see my -friend for a few days.</p> - -<p>It was again she who sent for me. I found her flushed and excited. She -took me in her arms and kissed me with unwonted tenderness.</p> - -<p>“You have not been here for so long, <i>yavroum</i>, and I have news -to tell you. Nouri Pasha will give me the little boy. The French woman -will be dismissed, and I shall bring him up like an Osmanli boy.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going to Paris with me?” I cried.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! no! I am going to stay here. Come into the house. Come and see -how ready we have made the rooms—ready for the young lion, who will be -here soon.”</p> - -<p>We went all over the house. It had been scrubbed and cleaned as if for -a bridegroom. Her own rooms had new curtains, new chintz covers, and -was beautifully scented.</p> - -<p>“He will live right here with me—see!” She pointed to a cradle placed -beside her bed. Her face flushed. With one hand she touched the cradle -timidly, with the other she pressed her heart, as if to keep it from -beating too fast.</p> - -<p>On the boy’s arrival, the house was wreathed and decorated. All the -flowers of the garden were made into garlands, and festooned outside -the house from window to window. The two slaves wore new gowns.</p> - -<p>Leila received me. “<i>Evvet, evvet, hanoum<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>192</span> effendi</i>, the young -lion has come. He’s upstairs with his mother—and she is good to look -at.”</p> - -<p>I climbed the much beribboned stairs; for all the old brocades and rare -Anatolian shawls were draped over the banisters; and went to my Lady’s -room. I found her seated on a couch, all clad in white satin, holding -Nouri Pasha’s son fast in her arms.</p> - -<p>“Come! come! <i>yavroum</i>, come to see him. Isn’t he wonderful, and -isn’t Allah good to me?”</p> - -<p>“He is a nice baby; but because you have him you will not go to Paris -with me, and you will never, never see the world.”</p> - -<p>She gazed up at me as if we had never talked of Paris. “Oh, yes, -Paris,” she murmured dreamily. “That was for my selfish pleasure. -But now,” she continued with a thrill in her voice, “now I am doing -something for the world.”</p> - -<p>Her face shone with the light which must be lighted from the divine -spark within us, when the self is effaced. She looked more than ever -like the Lady of the Fountain—but a fountain unlocked, and giving to -the world from its abundant waters.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>193</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xvi">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<span>CHAKENDÉ, THE SCORNED</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was dreary going away to Paris without my Lady of the Fountain, -especially since I had made up my mind to have her with me; but it was -a well-deserved punishment for attaching importance to the word of an -elder.</p> - -<p>The following two years were years of little to tell. They were filled -with studies and books, and books and studies. Black clouds were -already thickening on my young horizon, and I knew that sooner or later -I should have to encounter the storm. I had a thousand and one projects -for my life. Above all I wanted to become a doctor in order to minister -to the Turkish women, who at the time would rather die than see a man -doctor. I lived in that dream of wonderful usefulness which was to be -mine, and which was to save me from the martyrdom of the women of my -race.</p> - -<p>The usual fate of a Greek girl, who has to sit and wait until a -marriage is arranged for her, seemed to me the worst thing that could -befall me. And if the fate of the Greek girl with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>194</span> money was terrible, -what could I think of a girl like me, who had no dowry?</p> - -<p>It would mean a ceaseless plotting of all my female relatives to -capture a suitable <i>parti</i>. And a man would be a suitable -<i>parti</i> if he had money and position, irrespective of any other -qualifications.</p> - -<p>For a long time I had secretly resolved to work and fit myself to lead -my own life, and be spared the humiliation of being delivered over by -my family to some man who would condescend to receive me without being -paid for it. Thus these two years in Paris were years of hard work and -application. I had moments of intense longing for Turkey and for my old -life, which I had to brush aside, and to keep on working. Now and then, -enclosed in my mother’s letters, came epistles from Djimlah and Nashan, -but I never heard from Chakendé.</p> - -<p>At the end of two years my mother sent for me again. Since I was now -sixteen years old, this did not presage well for me. I knew that, as a -penniless girl, I had to be disposed of as soon as possible. The older -I grew, the more difficult it would be for my female relatives to make -a match for me.</p> - -<p>This was the sword of Damocles hanging over me. It was not that I -was averse to being married. On the contrary, in my most adventurous -schemes I never saw myself an old maid. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>195</span> had the inherent hatred of -the Greeks for that word. But I wanted to make my own marriage.</p> - -<p>I considered for some time, before returning to Constantinople. I -seriously contemplated disobeying the maternal summons and escaping -to America; for America always rose up in my dreams as the land of -salvation. Ultimately, I knew that I must go there, if I were to earn -my own living; but I decided to return to Constantinople. The longing -to see it again was strong upon me, and besides my brother happened -to be there at this time; and as long as he was there I hoped that I -should not be handed over, like bargain counter goods, to any man.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="verse"> - <div class="line">“<i>Ashadnan na Mahomet Rasoul Allah!</i></div> - <div class="line"><i>Bismallah!</i></div> - <div class="line"><i>Allah-hu-akbar!</i>”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>These were the words chanted, from a minaret near by, in the shrill -sweet voice of a young <i>muezzin</i>, as I emerged from my compartment -of the Oriental Express, in Constantinople, two days later.</p> - -<p>My soul answered to this call of the East. I felt as if I should like -to throw myself on a prayer-rug, face Mecca, and cry with the young -<i>muezzin</i>, “Allah-hu-akbar!”</p> - -<p>I had left the West behind—I was again in the East, the enchanting, -poetical East.</p> - -<p>This feeling was strengthened when, on reaching my hotel, I found a -letter from my mother<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>196</span> telling me not to come to our home on the island -that day, because it was Tuesday, as ill-omened a day with the Greeks -as Friday is with the rest of Europe.</p> - -<p>Indeed this was the East again—the East with its cry to Allah, and -its predominating superstitions. But I could not yet feel the proper -respect for ancestral superstitions. I had the arrogant self-confidence -of youth in full, and, as youth feels, I felt that the right lay with -my own inclinations. It was a hot and oppressive summer day in town, -and in disregard of maternal displeasure I decided to go on immediately -by the morning boat.</p> - -<p>In spite of the heat and of a strange feeling of oppression in the -atmosphere, I went on foot to the Bridge of Galata, in order that I -might revel again in the crooked streets of Constantinople, hear the -merchants cry out their wares, be followed by some of the stray dogs, -salute my old friend Ali Baba, the boatman, and thus assure myself that -I really was again in my beloved city on the Golden Horn.</p> - -<p>By the time I had bought my ticket for the steamer, Paris was as far -from my spirit as it was from my flesh—and the superstitions of my -mother no longer seemed unworthy of attention, even though I still -persisted in pleasing my selfish self. The idea of a happy compromise -suggested itself: I would take the boat to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>197</span> island, but instead -of going home I would spend the day at my cousin’s, at the other end -of the island, and arrive home on the following day, as my mother had -requested.</p> - -<p>Thereupon, in pursuit of this comfortable arrangement, on entering the -boat, instead of making my way to the first class deck, where men and -Christian women sit together, I betook myself to one of those private -little rooms which exist on the Mahshousettes boats exclusively for the -convenience of aristocratic Turkish ladies. By secluding myself in one -of these I effectually avoided the risk of recognition and report.</p> - -<p>I opened the door of one. The cabin was in semi-obscurity, and occupied -by three veiled ladies. However, as the place could accommodate four, -I entered. It was their privilege to ask me to depart, if they did not -care for the company of an unbeliever. I sat down and waited to see if -they would use their prerogative. To my surprise a lithe young woman -rose hastily and stood before me. Her two slender and tightly gloved -hands grasped my shoulders, and a pair of fine eyes peered into mine.</p> - -<p>“Why, little Thunderstorm!”</p> - -<p>A <i>feredjé</i> enveloped me and my lips came into close contact with -the filmly <i>yashmak</i> of Chakendé of the Timur-Lang. It was indeed -delightful to fall in thus with her. We had before us an hour and a -half’s sail with no one to disturb us; for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>198</span> the other two women were -her attendants and sat without saying a word. We spent the time in the -happiest of talk about the years during which we had not seen each -other, and during which we had left behind our girlhood, and crossed -the threshold of womanhood; for in the East we become women at an early -age.</p> - -<p>After I had told her all about myself, at her insistence—she being the -elder, and I having therefore to tell my story first—I said:</p> - -<p>“You are married now, I suppose. I remember you were to belong to a -young man in Anatolia, to whom you were betrothed when you were an hour -old, while he boasted of the great age of seven.”</p> - -<p>She sighed. “No, I am not—not yet—although I am getting on in years.”</p> - -<p>“Why are you waiting?” I inquired. All my French manners and training -had gone. I was again delightfully Oriental, asking personal questions -in the most direct way, as I had answered all that had been put to me.</p> - -<p>“It is quite a story, and we are nearly there. Since you are not going -home, why not come to my house till to-morrow, where I can tell you all -about it?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot,” I answered. “I must go to my relatives, or there will be -too much rumpus, if I am discovered.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, then, drive with me first to my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>199</span> house; I will leave the -attendants there, tell my mother where I am going, and come with you. -In this way we shall have the whole afternoon together. My attendants -can call for me in the evening.”</p> - -<p>That is how it happened that on reaching the island I drove in a closed -carriage with three veiled ladies to the <i>haremlik</i> of Djamal -Pasha, and afterwards, with only one, arrived at my cousin’s house.</p> - -<p>To my cousin I explained my plight and introduced Chakendé Hanoum. -There was no one at home except my cousin and her children. After -luncheon Chakendé and I went into the guest-room, where we made -ourselves comfortable in loose garments. She braided her long, thick -hair in two braids, and put a string of pearls, like a ribbon, over -her head. She had clad her slim, young figure in a loose, white -<i>pembezar</i>, made quite in French fashion. Cut a little low at the -neck, it displayed, besides another string of pearls, a throat full and -white, beautiful in shape and in its youthful freshness. She was so -good to look upon that I again bethought me of the man for whom she had -been destined.</p> - -<p>“Now tell me why you are not married,” I said.</p> - -<p>She laughed, and sighed again.</p> - -<p>“Because he will not have me.”</p> - -<p>“He, who?” I queried.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>200</span> -“The man I was engaged to when I was a baby.”</p> - -<p>“Upon my word!” I cried with indignation.</p> - -<p>“Now, Thunderstorm, you need not go ahead and blame him. His reasons -are excellent, as his face is kind and his figure straight—like a -cypress tree.”</p> - -<p>“You have seen him then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he has been in Constantinople for the past two years, and I have -seen him several times through the lattices of my window.”</p> - -<p>“And he refuses to marry you?”</p> - -<p>“He does.”</p> - -<p>“On the ground——”</p> - -<p>“That he does not know me. You see, he is tainted with European -culture, and he thinks a man ought to choose his own wife. I was chosen -for him: therefore he does not wish to marry me.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you give him up and marry some one else? There are plenty -who would be glad to have you.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “It so happens that I want him and no one else. And -what is more,” she added illogically, “I respect his reasons. He says -that he does not wish to be married to a woman he has not seen, and of -whose character he knows nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” I remarked. “Since you respect his reasons, and since you -are modern enough<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>201</span> yourself, why don’t you try to meet him unveiled -somewhere and have a chat with him?”</p> - -<p>Dubiously she shook her head again. “I don’t know how to manage it. He -does not go to the Christian houses to which I go. Besides none of my -Greek friends would care to take the risk of arranging a meeting.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do it,” I declared.</p> - -<p>Her face flushed with pleasure. “You are just the same madcap as ever. -Paris hasn’t robbed you of any of your spirit. How often I have wished -you were here—only I did not know whether you had become so wise that -you would not do foolish things any more.”</p> - -<p>For some time we discussed the matter, though without arriving at any -feasible plan. At length I left her, radiantly cheerful, and went into -the nursery to lie down, in order to leave the guest-room entirely to -her. My little cousins, three in number, were already on their beds, -and I stretched myself out on the divan.</p> - -<p>Instead of being cooler on the island, the oppression of the atmosphere -was more intense. There seemed something ominous in the heavy stillness -of the air, only broken by the noise of the yelling dogs in the -distance.</p> - -<p>I was just beginning to dose off, when my couch swung to and fro like a -hammock.</p> - -<p>My little eight year old cousin raised her head from her bed and stared -at me across the room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>202</span> -“Alkmeny!” I said crossly, “don’t shake your bed, child. It shakes the -room most unpleasantly.”</p> - -<p>“I thought it was <em>you</em> shaking the room,” the child replied.</p> - -<p>Then it occurred to me that it would take a giant to shake the huge -room. It was the second story of a rock house, with two foot thick -walls.</p> - -<p>The room shook again, so violently that I bit the end of my tongue, -and for the moment thought of nothing except the pain of it. Then it -grew dark, like dusk, and there was a noise as if hundreds of baskets -of walnuts were being poured down the staircase. In the thick stone -walls cracks a foot wide appeared; the edges trembled, as if uncertain -whether to fall inside or out, and with a crash came together again.</p> - -<p>The children were thrown out of their beds, and I gazed at them -passively. At this instant did some past incarnation of mine say the -word “earthquake!” or was the word really called by some one outside? -All I know is that “<i>seismos!</i>” rang in my ears, and with it -everything I had ever heard about earthquakes flashed into my mind. -“Don’t walk—crawl!” was the first thing, and obeying it I dropped to -the floor, caught up the youngest child in my arms, and told the other -two to cling to my gown. Then in a sitting position I worked my way out -of the room and down the stairs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>203</span> -The floor was waving up and down, but we managed to get down the short -flight of steps. The noise meanwhile was deafening, and the darkness in -the house complete. When we reached the front door and were about to go -out, one of the maids pushed me violently aside and dashed out herself. -A part of the falling chimney struck her on the head, and she fell to -the ground, quite dead. I climbed over her body, still crawling, with -the child in my arms. My white <i>négligé</i> was covered with the -maid’s blood, but this did not -<a name="affect" id="affect"></a><ins title="Original has 'effect'">affect</ins> -me at the time in the least. I -crawled on and on, while the terrific noises and the shaking continued, -always remembering that the safest place was the middle of the lawn—as -far from the house as possible. The children were holding tightly to my -dressing-gown, and they, too, were covered with the dead woman’s blood.</p> - -<p>As we were scuttling along the ground, little four year old Chrysoula -cried out: “Cousin, my foot is caught!” One of the cracks in the -earth—which was opening and shutting—had her little foot imprisoned; -but in a second it opened again and her foot was free.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, the house was surrounded by a large open lawn, otherwise -we might have been killed by the falling trees. In the middle of the -lawn we lay still, fascinated and bewildered. It was lighter out here -in the open, so that we could see what was taking place. I was not -consciously<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>204</span> afraid. A kind of exaltation possessed me that I should be -there to see the wonderful, ghastly spectacle.</p> - -<p>The Turks say that during an earthquake devils with fiery eyes fly -about the sky. And surely we saw them, only they must have been huge -stones, hurled into the air, which clashed together, giving forth -sparks that, for the fraction of a second, illumined their dark petrine -bodies. One of those devils fell with a crash on the stable. It went -through the roof, and in a few minutes the entire building was ablaze.</p> - -<p>After this the earthquake proper ceased, but the earth still trembled, -so that the oldest child fell over on my lap two or three times; and -Chrysoula, who was sitting comically tilted back with her feet in -the air—her one thought being to keep them from catching again in -the earth-cracks—would tip over, and then scramble back into her -undignified position.</p> - -<p>From the stable, now burning like a bonfire, a horse dashed madly out. -He was making directly for us when he fell, and lay where he fell. He -had stepped into an earth-crack and broken his leg, and had to be shot -afterwards.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the noises gradually lessened; but the air was filling with -smoke and the smell of the fires. My cousin’s house still stood, -apparently unhurt, except for the chimneys; but what a devastation -there was of those around<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>205</span> us! They were mostly modern with new -anti-seismic devices, such as iron bands around them. All these were -lying in ruins, the irons twisted and warped, the walls shapeless heaps -of stones, beneath which were buried many of those who had loved them -and called them home. The old-fashioned houses, without the irons, -withstood the shocks better. When afterwards I went into my cousin’s -house, I found that most of the furniture was broken, the plastering -had all fallen, the pictures were down, and the cracks in the walls had -not come together smoothly.</p> - -<p>During the earthquake we saw no one, except the maid that had been -killed. After an interval Chakendé, whom I had entirely forgotten, came -out of the house, her left arm bandaged and in a sling.</p> - -<p>“I am hurt,” she said quietly, sitting down beside me; “but I have -bandaged it up and it is all right. I am troubled, though, about my -people, and it will be some time before it will be possible for me to -go to them, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>Her manner was subdued, her face white, her eyes still frightened.</p> - -<p>What seemed a very long time passed before the people began to come out -of the ruins of the houses. My cousin appeared, crying hysterically. On -seeing her children she stopped crying. “My God!” she screamed, “I have -children!” She had totally forgotten about them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>206</span> -A few hours later my cousin’s husband arrived from Constantinople. The -boats, fortunately, had not been injured and were all running. He was -an official and brought out with him three young men, his subordinates, -two Greeks and a Turk. They told us that the damage in the town was -even worse than on the islands, so that we could expect to receive no -tents from the government that night.</p> - -<p>The heat of the day had changed to cold, which, in our nervous -condition, we felt severely, and the two Greeks set about building a -fire and preparing something for us to eat.</p> - -<p>Chakendé went up to the young Turk and spoke to him; then she came to -me.</p> - -<p>“This young man is going to help me bury the maid,” she said. Both to -me and to the Turk she spoke in French, but it was not a day to think -of such trifles. “We have already carried her into the laundry-house, -and now we are going to dig a grave.”</p> - -<p>Chakendé and the Turk went off to bury the Christian maid. It was -an odd fact that during this whole earthquake, while all other -nationalities were thinking of the living, it was the Turks mostly who -thought of the dead.</p> - -<p>When they came back to me, who still had the care of the children, for -both my cousin and the maids were too hysterical to attend to them, -Chakendé said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>207</span> -“We are thinking that if we can get several rugs we can put up some -kind of tents for the children and the rest of us to sleep under.”</p> - -<p>“It is Mademoiselle who thought of that,” the young Turk said with -admiration, and I realized then, that he was far from guessing that she -was a Mussulman girl; for Chakendé, having nothing to cover her face -with, went about like a European.</p> - -<p>“That’s a good idea,” I assented, “but who is going to get the rugs? It -will be difficult to make anyone go into the house.”</p> - -<p>“I will go,” Chakendé said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, mademoiselle!” the Turk protested. “This is a man’s work, not -a woman’s. It is a dangerous task, and besides rugs are heavy.”</p> - -<p>She smiled. “But I shall go too. Come, monsieur, don’t lose any time. -The earth is quiet for the present.”</p> - -<p>They left me, and on their return he was carrying a heavy pile of rugs, -while Chakendé had all the sheets and pillows she could manage with her -uninjured arm. The two of them proved remarkable tent-makers. One could -see that they came of a race which for centuries had lived in tents. -Not only did they put up one for my cousin’s family, but a little one -for Chakendé and myself. They disappeared again, and returned with -blankets. They made several trips<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>208</span> into the house, until they had us -all fully supplied with bedding.</p> - -<p>For one reared amid the seclusion of a harem she really was wonderful. -Her presence of mind, her fearlessness, and her resourcefulness -astonished me, engrossed though I was.</p> - -<p>After we had had something to eat, and put the children to bed, -Chakendé, the young Turk and I went and sat down at a little -distance, and talked over the events of the day. None of us had any -desire for sleep, although it was late. The earth was still groaning -occasionally, and it was unpleasant to lie down, since one could hear -hideous rumblings and tremblings which gave one a curious feeling of -sea-sickness.</p> - -<p>“What a day!” Chakendé exclaimed, after a long silence. There was a -certain exhilaration both in the voice and in the manner of the girl. -She seemed detached from the awfulness of it all, in spite of the -bloody wrappings on her arm.</p> - -<p>The Turk hardly took his eyes from her and there was no mistaking -his condition. He had met the woman he was to remember till he died, -whether he ever saw her again or not.</p> - -<p>Chakendé did not look in his direction. She sat erect, her head held -proudly above her lovely throat. She was even prettier than she had -been in the daytime.</p> - -<p>Presently the young man spoke, addressing himself to her:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>209</span> -“Mademoiselle, we have worked together to-day, as companions—as -friends. I should like you to give me something to keep for the rest of -my life.”</p> - -<p>“Monsieur only asks,” she replied, without looking at him, “he does not -offer to give anything to be remembered by.”</p> - -<p>It was a weird night, one of those nights when people cannot be -conventional. In my place I made myself very small, trying to forget I -was present, as the two seemed to forget me.</p> - -<p>“I, mademoiselle?” repeated the man, in a voice full of emotion. “I -have given you to-day all that is best in me. And whatever my life may -become that best will always belong to you.”</p> - -<p>“And in exchange, Monsieur asks?” Chakendé said, still not turning -toward him.</p> - -<p>“I only ask your name, mademoiselle. I should like to repeat it -daily—to have it be the nectar of my soul.”</p> - -<p>“Since Monsieur asks so little, it would be cruel to deny him.”</p> - -<p>She turned slowly around till her eyes met his. Distinctly she said:</p> - -<p>“My name is Chakendé, and I am known as the only daughter of Djamal -Pasha.”</p> - -<p>The young man gave a start. “You are—? You are——?”</p> - -<p>She nodded. “The woman you have scorned for the past two years.” She -turned away, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>210</span> gazed out into the darkness. In a minute she rose. -“Come, Thunderstorm,” she said to me, “I think we might as well go to -our tent.”</p> - -<p>The young Turk rose, too, and barred her way respectfully.</p> - -<p>“Hanoum Effendi,” he said, speaking in Turkish now, “I love you—will -you be my wife?”</p> - -<p>“Does the effendi think it would be so great an honour?” she asked, -with a little catch in her voice.</p> - -<p>“It would be an honour for me; it would give me the privilege of -worshipping you, of protecting you, of taking away all thorns from your -path, and of strewing it with roses. I ask to be allowed to be your -servant, as you are the mistress of my soul.”</p> - -<p>“The effendi speaks very beautifully,” she commented.</p> - -<p>“I love you!” he cried. “I love you!”</p> - -<p>She gave him her right hand, and he, bending as a worshipper, touched -it with his lips; then as a man he drew her to him, and covered her -hair and her eyes and her lips with his kisses.</p> - -<p>When Chakendé and I retreated to the little tent arranged for us, the -young Turk lay down on the ground outside, across the doorway. Chakendé -on her rug prayed to Allah, her uninjured arm upstretched with the palm -toward<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>211</span> heaven. After she had finished she turned to me.</p> - -<p>“Dear little Thunderstorm,” she said, “it has been a horrible day, a -devastating day, a life-taking day, but ah!—to me it has been the most -wonderful day of my life.”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>212</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xvii">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<span>A GREAT LADY OF STAMBOUL</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE earthquake subsided, and little by little people began to forget -its terrors. Some who had old-fashioned houses plucked up courage to -enter them, then to abandon their tents and stay in them. One day some -young people laughed, and others echoed their laughter. Gradually the -older people began to laugh, too; and the terrible shock which had -killed so many thousands and unnerved so many more began to lose its -hold upon the imagination of the people.</p> - -<p>Before the month was over life became normal, and we talked of -ordinary, everyday things. One day as I was sitting by my mother, -making lace, she casually remarked:</p> - -<p>“Nashan is going to be married, you know.”</p> - -<p>Of all my Turkish friends Nashan was the one my mother liked best. -Perhaps this was because she felt she had a share in her bringing up, -since the day on which she had been summoned by Nashan’s mother to pass -judgment on the little girl’s clothes—the little girl whose raiment I -had compared to that of a <i>saltimbanque</i>, when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>213</span> she had thought -that she was dressed like a great lady.</p> - -<p>“Oh, is she?” I cried, a trifle hurt. “She has not even written to me -that she is engaged. I am afraid she cannot care for her marriage.”</p> - -<p>I hastened to call on her. She received me in her French boudoir, -faultlessly dressed in a Parisian gown, her hair done in the fashion -prevalent in Europe at the time. We were so glad to see each other that -at first we forgot about the marriage. Finally I asked about it.</p> - -<p>Boundless became her indignation. “He is an Asiatic!” she cried, with -undisguised horror. “They are giving me to a man who cannot understand -a word of French, to a man who is an <i>arriéré</i>—who believes in -the subjection of women! They are handing me over to an unknown, who -has not touched my heart—merely because our fathers decided that -we should become husband and wife. And this Anatolian—this man who -has lived all his life in an uncivilized country—has come to claim -me—<em>me</em>, as his wife.”</p> - -<p>Since her indignation could rise no higher, it toppled over in a -torrent of tears. She laid her blonde head in my lap, and wept. And I -wept with her, because she was eighteen and I was sixteen, and life -seemed so full of tragedy. How dreadful the world looked to us in that -hour—and how we hated our elders.</p> - -<p>She had lost her mother, her only support, as,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>214</span> long ago, I had lost -my father. We had an orgy of tears, which cleared the atmosphere, and -helped the barometer to rise. The courage of youth returned to us.</p> - -<p>“What do you intend to do?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I thought of dying,” she said simply, but “I don’t want to. I hate to -die. Life is so interesting, and I am so healthy.” Inconsequently she -added: “Come and see my trousseau.”</p> - -<p>No French girl could have had a Frenchier one. No Parisian a more -Parisian one. If the father was imposing an Anatolian husband upon her, -he was generous in his supply of European accessories. She and I forgot -our troubles in admiring and gloating over the creations just arrived -from Paris.</p> - -<p>“And now look!” she cried, in a tone of loathing. She opened a closet -and drew forth a chest, richly inlaid. From its heart she took several -garments: they were Anatolian—even more Oriental than if they had -been Turkish. She threw them on the floor, and stamped upon them. “His -grandmother is insulting me with these. She thinks <em>that</em> is the -way <em>I</em> dress—I, a European to my finger-tips.”</p> - -<p>I picked up the despised garments and examined them with curiosity -mingled with admiration. The straight, stiff tunics of home-spun silks, -the jackets reaching below the knees, spun<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>215</span> by hand and fantastically -embroidered in a riot of colour were full of oriental poetry.</p> - -<p>“But they are truly lovely,” I cried. “They’re better than your French -clothes. Any woman would look adorable in them. I wish you would wear -them.”</p> - -<p>Nashan only snatched them from my hands and stamped on them again.</p> - -<p>As the date of her marriage drew near, I heard that there were scenes -of rebellion and tears of helplessness, but her father held fast to -his purpose, and the marriage took place. I did not go to it. I was -engrossed with my own troubles at the time, and besides I did not wish -to be present at what I considered the immolation of a woman.</p> - -<p>Two days after the wedding, a note reached me from her saying: “Will -you come and spend the day with me?”</p> - -<p>I went to her new home in Stamboul—fortunately free from his relatives -since these all lived in Anatolia. She was seated in a vast, bare, -oriental room which contrasted strangely with her French gown and -Parisian coiffure. There were no traces of tears on her face such as I -had expected to find; her pupils only seemed larger, and her eyes were -shining with a combativeness which I had felt was in her, but which I -had not encountered before.</p> - -<p>Silently we embraced each other.</p> - -<p>“Is he dreadful?” I whispered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>216</span> -“I don’t even know how he looks,” she replied. “I have not favoured him -with a glance. He has not been able to make me speak to him, and you -know that according to our laws, so long as I remain silent, he has no -rights over me.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to keep it up till he becomes discouraged and divorces -you?”</p> - -<p>Before she had time to answer, one of her slaves came in.</p> - -<p>“The <i>tchelebi</i> [master] is asking if he may see you.”</p> - -<p>I rose to leave the room.</p> - -<p>“Don’t go,” she begged.</p> - -<p>I sat down, a very uncomfortable little person. Nashan crossed her -slender hands on her lap and waited. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the -floor; her lips compressed, as for eternal silence.</p> - -<p>He came in. I do not know why I expected to see a grown-up man, with -man’s tyrannical power stamped on his brutal features. What entered -was a boy, a timid moustache sprouting on his lip. He was tall and -good-looking, but almost paralysed with shyness.</p> - -<p>He looked at nothing except his wife, and his face shone with all the -love he felt for her, with all the dreams he must have made about this -one woman, whom he had never seen till the day of his wedding.</p> - -<p>We are apt to think only of the woman’s side, and few of us ever give -a thought to what may<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>217</span> be the man’s disappointment, the man’s crushed -ideals in his marriage. Because he bears it like a man, because he -makes the best of what fate has allotted him, often without a word of -complaint, we think that the tragedy of marriage is entirely one-sided.</p> - -<p>That day, as the young fellow came in, shy and awkward, carrying a -small bundle in his hand, prejudiced though I was against him, I -somehow felt that there was his side, too. Perhaps it was his extreme -youth, his good looks, which touched me; or perhaps it was the -expression of misery on his face. Poets and writers have written about -the woman’s heart-break, but it is the sorrow of the strong which -contains the most pathos.</p> - -<p>He timidly took his seat at a distance from her, and fingered the -little parcel on his knee.</p> - -<p>An oppressive silence fell upon us, I furtively watching the youth, he -longingly gazing at his bride. Finally he began to undo his parcel, and -his movements were so like those of a little boy that I was ready to -weep for him.</p> - -<p>The parcel disclosed a beautifully embroidered pair of Turkish -slippers. I suppose they were the prettiest he could buy, but even at a -glance I knew that they were far too large for Nashan.</p> - -<p>He rose and advanced timidly, his offering in his hand.</p> - -<p>“I brought you these,” he said pleadingly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>218</span> He looked at the slippers -and then at her. “They were so lovely I could not help buying them for -you.”</p> - -<p>He sat down on the floor at her feet, and tried to bring the slippers -within her notice.</p> - -<p>“Let me put them on your pretty feet,” he begged.</p> - -<p>She neither replied, nor by the slightest movement betrayed that -she was aware of his existence. She was sitting on a chair, like a -European. Her knees were crossed, and one foot dangled before him, as -if inviting the new slippers.</p> - -<p>By a tremendous effort he summoned up courage to slip the Turkish -slipper on her foot, over the French shoe, and even then it was too -large. It hung suspended for a minute from her unresponsive toe, and -fell to the floor.</p> - -<p>I laughed more from nervousness than from mirth.</p> - -<p>He turned a troubled, inquiring countenance toward me, and then back to -his wife.</p> - -<p>“Why is she mocking me? Have I done anything ridiculous?”</p> - -<p>He appeared more than ever like a frightened little boy. He leaned -toward her as if he wished to hide behind her skirt, every movement -seeming to beg for protection.</p> - -<p>The stony expression left Nashan’s face. She no longer ignored his -existence. What was fine, womanly, maternal in her character became -alive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>219</span> -She put her arm round his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Why are you laughing?” she demanded quietly of me in French. “If he -were a Christian dog he would have known many women, and he would be -aware of the sizes of their feet. But he is only a clean Osmanli boy, -and, as you see, I am the first woman he has ever seen, besides his -mother.”</p> - -<p>It was a new Nashan: not the europeanized Nashan, with her foreign -veneer, but a real woman, the one who had once said to me: “I am sure -of the existence of Allah, because he manifests himself so quickly in -me.” Unmistakably at that moment God was manifesting Himself in her.</p> - -<p>I rose to go. She rose, too, and so did the man, who had picked up his -slippers and held them fast to his heart. He had not understood a word -of the French that had passed between us.</p> - -<p>“I bought you these because I thought maybe you would like them,” he -repeated.</p> - -<p>“I like them very much indeed,” she said, taking them from him.</p> - -<p>“They are not so pretty, perhaps, as the ones you have on; but they are -exactly like those my dead mother used to wear, when I was a little boy -and played on her lap.”</p> - -<p>She listened to him attentively, deferentially, her eyes raised to his. -Then she turned to me, who was already going.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>220</span> -“Don’t go just yet, dear. I beg of you to remain a few minutes.” To her -husband: “My lord, will you make my friend feel at home, while I am -gone a little while? I have just been hard to her, because she was rude -to you; but I do not think she meant to be.”</p> - -<p>Nashan was gone from the room only a short time, yet I hardly -recognized her on her return. She was dressed in one of the oriental -gowns his grandmother had sent her, and which she had despised and -trampled upon. Her French coiffure had disappeared. A Turkish veil was -arranged on her head, in the strict oriental fashion for indoors, and -on her feet, somehow, she had fastened his slippers.</p> - -<p>She bowed low before her husband.</p> - -<p>“These, my master, are the garments your honourable grandmother sent -me. I hope you like me in them.”</p> - -<p>He could not speak, nor was there any need; for his face was a -worshipful prayer.</p> - -<p>She turned to me with a proud little toss of her head.</p> - -<p>“Am I a great lady?” she asked as of old, with whimsical seriousness, -“or am I a <i>saltimbanque</i>?”</p> - -<p>“You are indeed a great lady,” I said—and I meant it.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>221</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xviii">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<span>THE INVENTIVENESS OF SEMMEYA HANOUM</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was from curiosity rather than from friendship that I accepted -Semmeya Hanoum’s pressing invitation to spend a few days with her, -shortly after Nashan’s wedding. As I said in a previous chapter, we -had never looked on Semmeya as one of us. We did not trust her, and -where there is no trust how can there be friendship? Still, since I -was burning to know what sort of a wife she had made, I replied to her -pressing invitation with alacrity.</p> - -<p>I did not have to wait very long before I knew that Semmeya Hanoum was -the same as ever—that she would rather cheat than play fair. She was -the mother of a dear, little boy; and it was easy to see that Sendi Bey -was the slave of his wife. At the same time it required no cleverness -on my part to discover that he did not trust her, and did not believe -her word.</p> - -<p>I have always wondered, and I suppose that I shall continue to wonder -till I die, and learn the explanation of many riddles, how it is that a -good, upright man can remain in love with a woman whom he cannot trust. -On the contrary,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>222</span> it often seems as if the less confidence a man has in -his wife, the more in love he remains with her.</p> - -<p>On the second morning of my arrival, nature outside was making -herself beautiful as if to pose for her portrait. We had finished our -breakfast, and were sitting on a couch together when her husband came -in, a dark cloud on his forehead. He gave his wife a severe look, which -Semmeya met with the candour of an angel.</p> - -<p>“I am delighted to see you so early, my Bey Effendi,” she said sweetly. -“I hope you have slept well,” and as he remained standing, she -continued: “Won’t you sit down by us, my Effendi?”</p> - -<p>“Beauty!” thundered the man, “why did you misbehave yesterday afternoon -while you were out driving?”</p> - -<p>An expression of utter amazement overspread her features.</p> - -<p>“Don’t trouble yourself to deny it—you know that it is true,” the -husband continued, striving to master his anger.</p> - -<p>She shrugged her slim shoulders, and the impertinent movement was -attractive. Intrinsically she was not a beautiful woman, but she had -charm, and the man speaking to her was in love with her. And she knew -it.</p> - -<p>“You know you did it,” he persisted.</p> - -<p>Impatiently she tapped the floor with her satin-clad<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>223</span> foot. I hate to -witness marital disagreements, so I rose to go; but Semmeya caught my -dress and imperiously pulled me back into my seat.</p> - -<p>“Beauty,” the man reiterated, with rising anger, “you know you did it.”</p> - -<p>She continued to look out of the latticed window, down on the waters of -the Golden Horn. Her profile was turned to her husband. This was the -prettiest view of her, and the one she always presented to him when -she wished to dominate him—she told me so herself. Her wavy hair was -loosely combed back on her neck, and a red rose was carelessly placed -a little below her pretty ear. She was dressed in a soft green silk -garment, the diaphanous sleeves displaying her well-shaped arms. Her -slim but well-rounded neck was bare, and one could see that she was in -a temper by the way the veins stood out on her throat.</p> - -<p>“You did it, Beauty,” the man persisted in an even monotone that -sounded like the approach of the storm.</p> - -<p>I rose for the second time to go, but the hand, more imperious than -before, pulled me down again; then the owner of the hand snapped out:</p> - -<p>“Since you believe the word of the eunuch against mine, and you are -so certain I did it, why do you wish me to verify it? Begone, man, -begone!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>224</span> -“But I want you to tell me why you threw the flowers at the -Englishman,” her husband demanded. He turned to me and asked, “Do you -think it is nice for a woman to throw flowers at a strange man?”</p> - -<p>Before I could reply, she calmly said, “It is not true.”</p> - -<p>“That you threw flowers at a man?”</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>“Did she or did she not?” he asked me.</p> - -<p>“She did,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“You wretch!” Semmeya Hanoum cried. “I only threw a rose, and a rose is -singular, not plural. Besides, how do you know that I threw it at the -man? I might have just thrown it away—and it might have happened to -strike his face by accident.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you happened to kiss the rose by accident, too?” Sendi Bey -inquired grimly.</p> - -<p>“Why not? I often kiss roses.” She looked at him with laughing -defiance. “And now what will you do, my lord?”</p> - -<p>“I should like to give you a good thrashing.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t. It is forbidden by the Koran.”</p> - -<p>“I know it, and I am very sorry. But, Beauty, your actions are getting -unbearable; and I am going to put a stop to them. For a month you are -not to leave this house without my permission.” With these words he -marched out of the room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>225</span> -She turned to me. “I should like to find out whether he will really -give orders that I am not to leave the house. Make ready to go out, and -we shall see.”</p> - -<p>She was waiting for me with a slave when I came to her room, and -together we went down the hall. There stood the eunuch with his back to -the door, looking determined to die at his post, if necessary.</p> - -<p>“Silly, come with us. We are going out for a walk,” Semmeya said -casually.</p> - -<p>He salaamed to the floor, but did not stir. She spoke to him more -sharply, and again he salaamed. No matter what she said, he salaamed.</p> - -<p>Ignominiously at last she retreated to her room. She sat down and -pondered over the situation earnestly. For once, I thought, she would -have to acknowledge herself beaten.</p> - -<p>At length she sprang to her feet, and I looked up expectantly, but she -only told me to take off my wraps, since we should be unable to go out. -She stepped out of the room, and I heard her whispering to her slave -outside. Presently she re-entered the room briskly.</p> - -<p>“When the eunuch comes up, tell him to wait a minute, if I am not here. -And meanwhile make yourself as comfortable as you can.”</p> - -<p>I took a French novel from the table, became interested in it, and had -quite forgotten our state of siege when the eunuch spoke to me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>226</span> -“Wait a minute.” I answered, hardly hearing what he said. “Semmeya -Hanoum will be back in a minute.”</p> - -<p>He took up his station in the doorway, commanding both the room and -the hall, and waited, listening intently. After a long while he went -downstairs.</p> - -<p>Again I was absorbed in my book when the eunuch returned, panting and -frightened.</p> - -<p>“My mistress! My mistress!” he shouted.</p> - -<p>“What is it, stupid? What has happened to your mistress?”</p> - -<p>“She has gone!”</p> - -<p>“Gone where?”</p> - -<p>“Away! Out of the house!” he wailed. “She has outwitted both of -us—myself and Yussuf at the gate of the garden. He was called away for -a minute, and when he came back, my mistress had disappeared. Ai! ai! -it was magic.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t stand there wailing; run and tell your master,” I said -impatiently.</p> - -<p>He looked at me in abject terror. “My master! I dare not. He would kill -me.”</p> - -<p>“Then send for him, and I will tell him.”</p> - -<p>“And you will tell him that I faithfully obeyed his orders,” he -implored, “and that she did not escape through any negligence on my -part?”</p> - -<p>Even after I had reassured him on these points he departed trembling, -and I went down to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>227</span> parlour to await Sendi Bey. In a few minutes he -came, and I told him what had happened. He cross-examined me, became -convinced that I knew nothing of his wife’s movements, and sent for the -unhappy man at the gate, Yussuf.</p> - -<p>“Why did you not run after your mistress?” he demanded sternly.</p> - -<p>“I did, your Excellency, but she was nowhere to be seen. There was not -a house where she could have entered, or a place where she could have -hidden; but she was not in sight. I do not see how she could have run -so fast. It is magic!”</p> - -<p>Sendi Bey dismissed the man, then called the slaves and the eunuch, and -ordered them to search the house, which they did without result. Then -he gave orders that no one was to enter or leave the house without his -permission, and that when the mistress returned she was to wait at the -gate till he had spoken to her.</p> - -<p>After we were alone together again, he exclaimed gleefully: “For once -she has put herself in my power. On her return I shall go to the gate -and make my conditions, and if she does not agree to them, she cannot -come in.”</p> - -<p>“But suppose she does not agree to them, and prefers not to come in?” I -asked.</p> - -<p>He laughed. “For once,” he repeated, “she has put herself in my power. -If she does not agree, she will lose all her rights over her boy,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>228</span> -since she left the house against my orders. She loves the boy, and she -will agree. Now is the time to put an end to her coquettishness.”</p> - -<p>Whatever satisfaction Sendi Bey and the absent, rebellious Semmeya -Hanoum might find in the situation, for me it was rather uncomfortable. -I was not able to go even into the garden, and ate a solitary luncheon -and then dinner, all the slaves being at their posts to prevent any -entry or egress. After finishing my novel, I was just preparing to go -to bed when a slave came to me.</p> - -<p>“My master would like to see you downstairs if you will be so good,” -she said.</p> - -<p>There was no one in the parlour when I arrived there, but presently the -master came in from the <i>selamlik</i>.</p> - -<p>“What can I do for you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Why, nothing,” I replied. “I am perfectly comfortable, although the -situation is not.”</p> - -<p>He looked at me with a puzzled air.</p> - -<p>“Why did you send for me?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t. I was told that you wished to see me.”</p> - -<p>“There must be some mistake,” he said, and pulled the velvet rope of -the bell. As if in answer to the ring, in sauntered Semmeya Hanoum, as -cool as a cucumber, cigarette in hand, and apparently just back from -her expedition, since she was still in outdoor dress.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>229</span> -We both stared at her in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Blossom,” she said to me. “Sorry to have left you alone all -day.”</p> - -<p>She elaborately ignored her husband. After an instant’s stupefaction he -strode across the room, took her chin in his hand, and lifted her face.</p> - -<p>“Where have you been?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>She snatched her head away from his hand, and dropped him an -extravagant French curtsy. “Where I pleased, my master.”</p> - -<p>The man was shaking with anger.</p> - -<p>“How did you get in?”</p> - -<p>She waved her gloved hand towards the hall. “Ring the bell—call in -your servants—find out.”</p> - -<p>“To make a bigger fool of myself?”</p> - -<p>“Why not, since you were willing to belittle me before them, by your -silly orders this morning? You told the eunuch not to let me go out, -and when I returned, I had to use a ruse to enter my own home, where -my baby boy is. You are a brute and a jealous fiend, and I am the most -unhappy of wives,” and thereupon she burst into the most pathetic -sobbing, and threw herself upon me, holding me fast to her.</p> - -<p>“Why, Beauty,” he expostulated in tender tones, “you know I have never -been unkind to you, and this is the first time I have even thought of -punishing you.”</p> - -<p>She continued to sob without abatement. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>230</span> came near us, and timidly -tried to take her in his arms. To my surprise she went to him like a -lamb, kissing him and crying, and I slipped out of the room, once more -convinced that men were mere babes in the hands of designing women.</p> - -<p>That night I waited in vain for her to come and tell me where she had -been, and while waiting I fell asleep. After breakfast the next morning -she came to my room, beaming, and looking prettier than ever.</p> - -<p>“Siege is raised,” she cried, sitting down cross-legged on the rug. -“Blossom of the almond-tree, we can go for a picnic to any cemetery we -like, and I am to have a pair of horses all my own, and the loveliest -low victoria that France can manufacture.” She put her finger-tips -together, and looked up at me enjoying the effect of her words, and -continued: “I am also going to have a bigger allowance, and when I have -a little girl, I may give her a French name. In exchange, I shall not -throw kissed roses to anyone, and I am not going to fib for a long, -long time.”</p> - -<p>She swayed forward till her forehead touched the floor, and giggled so -delightedly that I had to join her.</p> - -<p>“The poor dear!” she went on, after her laughter had subsided. “If I -told him the truth for a week, he would cease to find me interesting. I -should be a tame creature—not the woman he is in love with. Oh, dear! -all men are alike.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>231</span> -“You don’t know so very many men.” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“Not actually, Blossom mine, not actually; but a woman retains the -knowledge of her previous existences far better than a man. That is -what her intuition is. I have been a wife for thousands of years. Think -of the husbands I have had! I know all about men. Why, sometimes I can -write down Sendi’s words before they leave his lips; and, as for his -actions, I know them before he even conceives them.”</p> - -<p>“But what I want to know is how you got out of the house yesterday, and -then how you got in again.”</p> - -<p>She looked at me with amused pity.</p> - -<p>“Blossom, you are just about as stupid as a man—just about. I never -left the house; I couldn’t.”</p> - -<p>I stared. “But they searched high and low——”</p> - -<p>“Not very low, my dear, not very low; for if they had, they would have -found us down in the cistern, in the baskets we keep the things cool -in. We almost touched the water—and we were cool, I can tell you.” And -she went into peals of infectious laughter that carried me along with -her.</p> - -<p>“Did you tell him?” I asked when our amusement had subsided.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what a goose you are, dear! Of course<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>232</span> I did not. He will have -that riddle in the depths of his heart to torment him—until I give him -a fresh one.”</p> - -<p>I attempted to lecture her, but she closed my lips with a kiss and -adjured me not to be a simpleton until nature turned me into a man.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>233</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xix">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<span>THE CHIVALRY OF ARIF BEY</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">U</span>P to now I have only spoken of the women of Turkey, because such are -the conditions there that men and women do not mingle freely.</p> - -<p>By the Western world Turkish men are held in low estimation: it may be -with reason, and it may be merely out of ignorance. One of the episodes -of my life deals with a Turkish man, the Arif Bey who used to come to -our house as my brother’s friend, when I was a little girl, and who for -awhile got mixed in my head with the Greek demi-gods. I had not seen -him for years. Once I had asked my brother about him. He had only told -me that he was now a pasha, and then changed the conversation.</p> - -<p>My brother and I were invited to spend a week in Constantinople with -some friends, the Kallerghis. Our host was a charming, dashing man of -over forty, one of the few remaining members of a formerly rich and -powerful Greek family. He was a Turkish official, and the only support -of a bedridden mother, to whom he was so devoted that on her account he -remained a bachelor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>234</span> -He was very fond of talking, perhaps because he told a story so well, -or perhaps because, being of an adventurous disposition, he had been -in many a scrape. One night, he told us of his experience when, in -disguise, he had managed to penetrate into the <i>tekhe</i> of the -dervishes of Stamboul and witness one of their secret ceremonies. It -was one to which the most orthodox Mussulmans alone were admitted, -and a Christian took his life in his hand if he tried to be present. -He described the ceremony as something weird but not unpleasant, as -something worth seeing.</p> - -<p>There are people in the world who add splendour to whatever they -describe, a splendour which is in their hearts and minds and not in the -seen thing. Such a man was Damon Kallerghis.</p> - -<p>In the silence that followed his words, the tapping of the hour by -the <i>bektchi</i>, on his nightly rounds, came to us from sleeping -Constantinople outside.</p> - -<p>“And how often do the ceremonies occur?” I asked, breathless with the -interest he had aroused.</p> - -<p>“Twice a year. The next one will be in six weeks.”</p> - -<p>That night I could not sleep for the haunting remembrance of the -uncanny wonders to which I had listened. I did not even go to bed. -Sitting by the window I looked at the white minarets, faintly gleaming -against the dark blue oriental<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>235</span> sky. Yonder was Stamboul with its -mysteries and its charm. Which of all those graceful peaks reared -itself above the mosque of the dervishes? My desire to see that of -which I had heard grew ever stronger as the hours passed, until I could -stay quiet no longer.</p> - -<p>My brother’s room was next to mine. To it I went, and with the -unscrupulous cruelty of my age, I woke him.</p> - -<p>He jumped up, rubbing his eyes. “What is it, child? Are you ill?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I said, settling myself on the foot of his bed. “Brother, I want -to go to the dervishes’ dance next month.”</p> - -<p>“Upon my word!” he exclaimed. “Go back to bed at once, or I shall think -you have gone crazy.”</p> - -<p>“Brother, you have got to say that you are going to take me there.”</p> - -<p>My brother was thoroughly awake by this time. He looked at me with a -kind of despair.</p> - -<p>“But didn’t you hear how dangerous it was—even for Damon Kallerghis? -As for your going, you might as well prance off to prison at once.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind going to prison, if I can see the dervishes first,” I -persisted.</p> - -<p>My brother, as I have said, was fourteen years older than I. He -had been my playfellow and my instructor, and was now my guardian. -Unfortunately, he was neither stern with me nor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>236</span> prudent himself. I -knew that I could make him grant me this wish if I only stuck to it -long enough; and when I returned to my room, an hour later, I went to -sleep delighted with the thought of the extracted promise.</p> - -<p>The next six weeks passed slowly, although we were busy with a number -of preparations. We had, of course, to be provided with Turkish -clothes, correct in every particular; and since, according to Osmanli -custom, a lady never goes abroad alone, at least two other women, on -whose courage and discretion we could count, had to be enlisted. It was -not difficult to find men to accompany us. Any enterprise, the aim of -which was to outwit the Turks, could not but appeal to Greeks. The two -young men whom we chose were both government officials, but this did -not in the least abate their enthusiasm for the enterprise.</p> - -<p>At last the night of nights arrived. We met at the Kallerghis house, -dressed there, and stole down the back way to two carriages awaiting -us. These took us to the Galata Bridge, whence we proceeded on foot. A -faithful manservant, dressed in the Anatolian <i>salvhar</i>, headed -the procession, carrying a lantern. We women came next, and our escorts -followed a little way behind, since Turkish women never walk in company -with men.</p> - -<p>Stamboul in the daytime is clamorous and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>237</span> overcrowded. The hundred and -one cries of its pedlars and shopkeepers come at one from all quarters, -and in half the languages of the earth, while one can hardly move about -for the congestion of people. At night it is as silent and dark as -the tomb. As we hurried along the narrow, crooked streets, we heard -the occasional tramp of the night patrol, the sharp yelps of the dogs -at their scavenger work, and that was all. I had never before seen -Stamboul at night, and I doubt whether I shall ever wish to see it -again.</p> - -<p>I began to realize the enormity of our enterprise, and to appreciate -that, had my brother been of a less adventurous temperament or a more -careful guardian, we should never have been where we were at that hour. -As we stumbled along over ill-paved alleys, which little deserved to -be called streets, the bravery with which I had confronted the idea -of possible dangers oozed out of me. Nursery tales of the ferocity of -the Turks recurred to a mind which the consciousness of doing wrong -made susceptible to fear. We were on our way to steal into a mosque, -the door of which was strictly closed against us. We were dressed in -Turkish clothes, and Christian women were forbidden under a heavy -penalty to dress as Turks, except in the company of Turkish women. -We were all Greeks, and the Turks had been our hereditary enemies -since 1453. Had I had the courage at this juncture to demand that we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>238</span> -returned, as I had insisted on coming, I should have been spared one -of the most terrifying nights of my life; but I lacked this, and my -shaky legs marched on through the unnamed and unnumbered streets to our -destination.</p> - -<p>The man who had been the primary cause of our risky enterprise awaited -us at the arched gateway of the <i>tekhe</i>. He signalled us to follow -him, and we entered an ill-lighted outer courtyard. Thence we went down -a steep staircase to an inner one that must have been considerably -below the street level. My recollections of our movements for the next -few minutes are hazy. We walked through one crooked corridor after -another till we came to what looked like an impasse. A young dervish -was standing so flat against the wall that I did not notice him until -Damon Kallerghis made a sign to him, to which he responded. He lifted -the heavy leather <i>portière</i>, which I had taken to be the solid -wall, and permitted us to pass under it, and, as it seemed to me, -beyond any human protection. Up to this moment it was still possible -for us to turn back; but when that leather <i>portière</i> closed -behind us, we were in the dark <i>tekhe</i> itself.</p> - -<p>An insane fear seized me. What if our guide had entrapped us here to -our destruction? I did not stop to reflect how much persuasion it had -required to get him to conduct us on this hair-brained escapade: I was -simply afraid, and my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>239</span> fear robbed me of every vestige of common sense. -Fortunately, beyond trembling till my teeth chattered, I attempted -nothing.</p> - -<p>A few yards farther over the stone floor, and we were pushed into a -stall, and another leather <i>portière</i> closed us in. This was -the end of our journey. The front of the stall was covered with -lattice-work, and through its holes we could look down into a cavernous -square arena, dark, save for a big charcoal fire smouldering in the -middle. Around the arena ran an arcade, and under it we presently made -out the reclining forms of many dervishes of different orders, and -numerous Mohammedan pilgrims, quietly smoking. The stall on our right -and left must also have been occupied, for we heard the scuffling of -feet on the floor, and then silence.</p> - -<p>I really cannot say how long we sat on our low stools, looking down on -the weird scene beneath us, before the oppressive silence was broken -by a fearfully plaintive sound which seemed to come from far away, and -which, for lack of a better word, I shall have to call music. On and -on it went, rising and falling, monotonous, dull, and melancholy. It -penetrated the whole place, seeming to drug the atmosphere, till one -felt as if any phantasmagoria of the brain might be real.</p> - -<p>It had another effect, this dreadful, insistent sound. After a few -minutes a desire to shriek,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>240</span> even to bite, came over me, and I began -rhythmically to tear my <i>feredjé</i> in time to the music.</p> - -<p>From this condition I was roused by a strident yell, and looked -through the lattice with renewed attention. The arena was beginning -to fill with long-cloaked dervishes carrying lighted torches. A mat -was spread near the charcoal fire, and on this the sheik, or abbot, of -the brotherhood took his place, cross-legged. The nerve-racking music -ceased while he offered a short prayer.</p> - -<p>When this was over, other dervishes came into the arena, received -torches, and ranged themselves under the archways, like caryatides. -The maddening music started again, and the dervishes, joining hands, -made the round of the enclosure in a slow, dancing step, somewhat -like the step of a dancing bear, gradually increasing the violence of -their movements. Then each one took off his <i>taj</i>, or head-dress, -kissed it and passed it over to the sheik. The music grew faster, but -lower in tone, and more infuriating. The dervishes, with heads bowed -and shoulders bent, danced more wildly about the smouldering fire. The -long cloaks were thrown aside, and the men appeared, naked, except for -the band around their waists, from which hung long knives. They threw -out their arms, as if in supplication, and bent back their heads in -terrible contortions. Yells of “<i>Ya Hou!</i>” and “<i>Ya Allah!</i>” -mingled with the music.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>241</span> -Little by little the men lost every vestige of resemblance to human -beings. They were creatures possessed by a demoniac madness. They -shrieked and yelled inarticulately, their voices blending curiously -well with the hellish music. When their frenzy reached its climax, -they drew their knives from their belts and began stabbing themselves. -The blood trickled down over their bodies, and added to the sinister -aspect of the scene. After a while some of them threw themselves into -the fire, and then with ferocious yelps jumped out of it. Others, as if -they were hungry wolves, and the fire their prey, fell upon it and ate -the lighted charcoal. The smell of burning flesh was added to the smell -of sweat and blood, and made the close air almost unbearable.</p> - -<p>When at last they could whirl no more, yell no more, stab themselves -and eat fire no more, one by one they fell to the ground. The music -became ever faster and fainter, as if it were agonizing with the men -who danced to it, until, as the last man collapsed, it, too, ceased. -The sheik then rose from his mat and went from one prostrate form to -another, breathing into their faces, and ministering to their wounds. -He who died on such a night, it was said, would become a saint.</p> - -<p>Dazed and shaken, we left our stall and stumbled along the corridors -until we reached the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>242</span> entrance. There were other people, and I was -vaguely aware of cries and sobs, but heeded nothing. I wished to get -out of the <i>tekhe</i> as if my salvation depended on it. At the outer -door I gave a great sigh of relief, and ran on after our Anatolian with -his lantern.</p> - -<p>I was by no means myself yet, but a feeling of relief came upon me when -the cold, damp air of the night struck my face. I was trying to get -away from the music, which still clung to my nerves. For a considerable -time I walked on until a hand touched my shoulder. Startled, I turned, -and by the light of the moon, which had risen, looked into the eyes of -a veiled woman who was a stranger to me. Other veiled forms surrounded -me, none of whom I knew.</p> - -<p>“Hanoum effendim,” said the one who had touched me, smiling, “I am -afraid you have lost your party, and by mistake have come with ours.”</p> - -<p>Her words were like a cold but revivifying bath.</p> - -<p>“I must have done so,” I replied, trying to avoid much conversation. “I -will go back.”</p> - -<p>“Come with us for the night,” she suggested.</p> - -<p>Thanking her, I took to my heels. I had not paid much attention to -the crooked streets traversed thus far, and as I absolutely lack the -sense of location I must now have gone in some other direction than -that of the <i>tekhe</i>; for after long running back and forth, and -hiding in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>243</span> by-streets whenever I heard anyone approaching, I came -to the awful conclusion that I could not find the <i>tekhe</i>, and, -alone and unprotected, was lost in the streets of Stamboul. I wondered, -too, what the others were doing. Afterward I learned that, when they -got to the entrance, one of the women of our party had fainted, and, -to avoid danger, they had hidden in a dark passage while waiting for -her to come to her senses. In their excitement they did not notice my -disappearance, and when they found it out they searched everywhere, -finally deciding that the others should go home while my brother and -one of the men hid near the <i>tekhe</i>, thinking that sooner or later -I should turn up there. It was only in the early morning that they went -away, hoping that by some lucky chance I had returned to the house.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile I was roaming far from the <i>tekhe</i>, exposed to all kinds -of dangers. I grew desperate. Horrible stories of the Greek Revolution -recurred to my mind: how our women were tortured to death by the Turks, -and how others, to avoid shame and torture, had thrown themselves into -the sea. If I could only reach the water! With that idea in my mind -I ran in the direction in which I thought the sea lay. Fragments of -prayer taught me in childhood, and long forgotten for lack of use, came -back to me, and I began to pray. I was glad for the many saints in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>244</span> -Greek Faith to whom I could appeal. I tried to remember where in the -church was the particular niche of each of the saints. It took my mind -from my danger, and gave it a definite object, as I hurried on.</p> - -<p>Into the intensity of my prayers there broke the muffled sound of -leather boots. The night patrol was on its rounds. I stood still. -To all appearances I was a Turkish woman, alone in the streets. The -patrol would arrest me. What if I threw away the <i>feredjé</i> and the -<i>yashmak</i>? Though as a Turkish woman I should be taken to prison, -what my fate would be as a Christian I did not know, and the unknown -fate was the more terrifying. The Turkish garb was my danger, but also -my momentary protection.</p> - -<p>I drew the black silk about me. While waiting for the approach of the -night patrol, my mind worked quickly. I must belong to some man’s -harem, either as lady or slave. I was afraid that I might not act -meekly enough for a slave; then it must be as somebody’s wife. Whose -should it be? The tall, stalwart figure of Arif Bey flashed across my -mind’s eye. He had had two wives when I knew him: he probably had more -now—and besides I knew where his town house was.</p> - -<p>By the time the patrol came near me I felt quite safe in the thought -of the dashing figure and handsome face of the man I had chosen as my -husband. I walked up to the patrol, though<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>245</span> I was swallowing hard, and -told them that I was lost, and wished them to take me to the police -station and send for Arif Pasha, my husband. I addressed myself to the -man who appeared to be the officer of the small band, and spoke very -low, in order that he might not detect any hesitancy in my Turkish.</p> - -<p>He saluted in military fashion, divided his few men into two -groups, and between them escorted me to the police-station. There a -consultation took place between him and his superior, and the latter -asked me where I had been, and how I had happened to lose my party.</p> - -<p>I smiled sweetly at him. “I shall tell that to my husband, and he will -tell you, if he thinks best.”</p> - -<p>This was so admirable a wifely sentiment that it left my inquisitor -bereft of questions.</p> - -<p>“It is a long way to your house,” he remarked. “It may take some hours -for your husband to come here.”</p> - -<p>“That does not matter, if you will only send for him.”</p> - -<p>He took me to a large room and locked me inside. I had no means of -knowing whether he would send for Arif Pasha or not, but I argued to -myself that the name was too big for a policeman to trifle with. It -remained to be seen whether the pasha would come at the summons, or -would first go into his <i>haremlik</i> to find out whether one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>246</span> of his -wives were really missing. And if he had several homes, as rich Turks -often have, would he be at the address I gave, or would he be with -another wife at another house, or possibly not even in the town?</p> - -<p>My thoughts were far from pleasant. I sat on my stool praying to my -Maker as I have never done before or since. I thought that after this -experience I should become a very wise and careful woman. Alas!</p> - -<p>The night grew older, and the greyish light gradually pierced the -darkness, as I disconsolately wondered what would happen to me.</p> - -<p>There were steps outside, the key turned, and Arif Pasha entered the -room, and shut the door behind him.</p> - -<p>My father used to say: “Don’t be humble with the Turks. Ask them what -you want, and ask it as your right.”</p> - -<p>“Please be seated, Arif Pasha,” I said, “and I will tell you all about -it.”</p> - -<p>“And, pray, who are you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I will tell you that also,” I answered, with as confident a manner as -I was able to assume.</p> - -<p>He drew up a stool and sat down opposite me. Then I told him the whole -adventure, adding that I had sent for him to get me out of the scrape.</p> - -<p>When I had finished, he threw back his head and laughed heartily. “So -you are my wife, are you?” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>247</span> -I laughed, too, tremendously relieved that he was not angry with me.</p> - -<p>“I remember you well now,” he went on, “and, if you are not any better -disciplined than you were a few years ago, you will make a troublesome -handful of a wife,” and again he roared. “I told your precious brother -once that, if he didn’t use more discretion in bringing you up, you -would keep him pretty busy. And now what do you think I can do for you?”</p> - -<p>“Why, you will just get me out of here, and drive me to the Kallerghis, -where I am staying.”</p> - -<p>Arif Pasha looked at me with a kind of puzzled exasperation. “How old -are you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Sixteen.”</p> - -<p>“Well, can’t you see that if I drove you there at this hour your -reputation would be ruined?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” I exclaimed blankly. “Then what must we do?” I was quite willing -to leave it all to him.</p> - -<p>A fresh access of merriment overcame the Turk. He laughed till the -tears came into his eyes. I stood by, inclined to join in with him, yet -not quite sure whether it was directed against me or not. In truth, -there was a sardonic humour in the situation which I did not understand -until some hours later.</p> - -<p>“Did ever a man find himself in such a position!” he gasped, wiping his -eyes. “Here I am routed out of bed at an unearthly hour, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>248</span> dragged -across Stamboul to a police-station, to discover myself possessed of a -Greek wife I never knew I had—and to get her out of jail!”</p> - -<p>He went to the door and clapped his hands. To the soldier who responded -to the signal he said a few words, and then returned to me.</p> - -<p>“I have sent for coffee and something to eat.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t want anything to eat. I only want to get out of here,” I -said petulantly.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” he said with severity, “but I am not accustomed to speak -twice to my wives. They do what I say without objections.”</p> - -<p>“But I am not your wife,” I retorted, nettled at his lofty tone.</p> - -<p>“No? I thought you said you were,” and again his laugh filled the room.</p> - -<p>When the coffee and <i>galetas</i> were brought in, I ate meekly, and -they tasted good. The hot coffee, especially, warmed me, and made -things seem more cheerful than they had.</p> - -<p>When we had finished eating, he said to me: “Now, mademoiselle, my -carriage is downstairs, but I have explained to you why I cannot drive -you direct to the Kallerghis.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose you take me to your home, and tell your favourite wife about -it,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>His dark-blue eyes danced. “You think she will believe me, -mademoiselle?”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “When you are a woman,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>249</span> you will understand many -things you do not now, and I hope you will still have cause to trust -men as you do now. But, mademoiselle, they are not all trustworthy, and -women are right not to believe what they say.”</p> - -<p>He caressed his clean-shaven chin and became lost in thought. Presently -he unfolded his plan, and, even in my youth and impatience, I began -to see that the sole object of his precautions was to get me into the -house in such a way as to save me from any breath of scandal.</p> - -<p>The sooner we left the station-house the better it would be. He spoke -a few words to the police-officers, and then told me to follow him. -There was a closed coupé awaiting us, and when we were in it he pulled -down both curtains. “We are going on a long drive until it becomes -respectable daylight. Then we shall go to your house, as if I were -bringing you back from a visit to one of my wives.”</p> - -<p>It was after nine o’clock when we reached the Kallerghis house.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he said, “arrange the <i>yashmak</i> so that it will look like -a European scarf, and hold your <i>feredjé</i> as if it were a silk -cloak, and don’t look frightened. I will get out and ring the bell, and -stay here talking and laughing with you for a minute. If you see people -whom you know, bow cordially to them, and do not act as if there were -anything unusual in the situation.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>250</span> -When the servant answered the bell, I got out of the carriage, and Arif -Pasha, bending over my hand, said:</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle, tell your brother that I shall forget ever having seen -you to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” I said.</p> - -<p>Of the man who opened the door I asked: “Is my brother or Kyrios -Kallerghis in?”</p> - -<p>“No, mademoiselle. They have been here several times this morning, but -are out now. They seem to be in some kind of trouble.”</p> - -<p>“As soon as they come in, tell them I should like to see them.”</p> - -<p>It was a haggard and miserable brother who came to my room an hour or -so later.</p> - -<p>After telling him all my adventure, I repeated Arif Pasha’s message.</p> - -<p>My brother gave me a long, thoughtful look.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” he said at last, “that Arif and I have been deadly -enemies for the last three years?”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>251</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xx">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<span>IN THE WAKE OF COLUMBUS</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HIS night of terrors proved my last adventure in Turkey. Soon -afterwards events began to force me to feel that in order to live my -own life, as seemed right to me, I must flee from all I knew and loved -to an unknown, alien land. It is a hard fate: it involves sacrifices -and brings heartaches. After all, what gives to life sweetness and -charm is the orderliness with which one develops. To grow on the home -soil, and quietly to reach full bloom there, gives poise to one’s life. -It may be argued that this orderly growth rarely produces great and -dazzling results; still it is more worth while. People with restless -dispositions, people to whom constant transplanting seems necessary, -even if they attain great development, are rather to be pitied than to -be envied; and, when the transplanting produces only mediocre results, -there is nothing to mitigate the pity.</p> - -<p>By nature I was a social revolutionist, and I liked neither the -attitude of the men towards the women nor of the women towards life, -among the people of my race. I have learned better<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>252</span> since, and know now -that social laws exist because society has found them to be wise, and -that little madcaps like me are better off if they respect them. But at -that time I had more daring than wisdom, and longed to go where people -lived their lives both with more freedom and with more intensity. -Moreover, I wanted to “do something”—like so many feather-brained -girls all the world over—just what, I did not know, for I had no -especial talents.</p> - -<p>With a fairly accurate idea of my own worth, I knew that I was -intelligent, but I was fully aware that I was the possessor of no gifts -that would place me among the privileged few and outside the ranks of -ordinary mortals. Brought up on books and nourished on dreams, I had a -poor preparation with which to fight the battle of life, particularly -in a foreign country, where everything was different, and difficult -both to grasp and to manipulate. The only factor in my favour was my -Greek blood, synonymous with money-making ability; for we Greeks have -always been merchants, even when we wore <i>chlamidas</i> and reclined -in the <i>agora</i>, declaiming odes to the gods, talking philosophy, -or speculating on the immortality of our souls.</p> - -<p>Knowing my race as I did, and aware that it succeeded in making money -in climates and under conditions where other races failed, I was -confident that I could earn my own living. There<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>253</span> is something in us -which justifies the tale of Prometheus. Even before I was fifteen I was -quietly planning to leave Turkey, to go and seek what fortunes awaited -me in new and strange lands—a course which my imagination painted -very attractively. America beckoned to me more than any other country, -perhaps because I thought there were no classes there, and that every -one met on an equal footing and worked out his own salvation.</p> - -<p>We are all the possessors of two kinds of knowledge: one absorbed -from experience, books, and hearsay, which we call facts; the other, -a knowledge that comes to us through our own immortal selves. This -last it is impossible to analyse, since it partakes of the unseen -and the untranslatable. We feel it, that is all. This subconscious -knowledge—to which many of us attach far greater importance than we do -to cold facts—is usually as remote as a distant sound, though at times -it may be so clear as to be almost palpable. This secondary knowledge -told me I must go to America—America that rose so luminous, so full of -hope and promise on the never-ending horizon of my young life.</p> - -<p>I had not the remotest idea of how my dream of going there could be -realized; but I believe that if one keeps on dreaming a dream hard -enough, it will eventually become a reality. And so did mine. A Greek -I knew was appointed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>254</span> consul to New York, and was shortly to sail with -his family to the United States. I had a secret conference with them, -offering to accompany them as an unpaid governess, and to stay with -them as long as they stayed in America. They accepted my offer.</p> - -<p>This I regarded merely as a means of getting away from home. After -I left them my real career would begin. That I was prepared for no -particular vocation, that I did not even know a single word of English, -disconcerted me not at all. Accustomed to having my own way, I was -convinced that the supreme right of every person was to lead his life -as he chose. I do not think so any longer. On the contrary, I believe -that the supreme duty of every individual is to consider the greatest -good of the greatest number. That I succeeded in my rash enterprize is -more due to the kindness of Providence than to any personal worth of -mine.</p> - -<p>Of America actually I knew almost nothing, and what I thought I knew -was all topsy-turvy. The story of Pocohontas and Captain John Smith -had fallen into my hands when I was twelve years old. I wept over it -and surmised that the great continent beyond the seas was peopled by -the descendents of Indian princesses and adventurers. My second piece -of information was gathered from a French novel, I believe, in which a -black sheep was referred to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>255</span> as having gone to America “where all black -sheep gravitate.” And my third source of information was “Uncle Tom’s -Cabin,” the book which makes European children form a distorted idea of -the American people, and sentimentalize over a race hardly worth it.</p> - -<p>This made up my encyclopædia of American facts. That all those who -emigrated thither succeeded easily, and amassed untold wealth, I -ascribed to the fact that being Europeans they were vastly superior to -the Americans, who at best were only half-breeds. You who read this may -think that I was singularly ignorant; yet I can assure you that to-day -I meet many people on my travels in Europe who are not only as ignorant -as I was, but who have even lower ideas about the Americans.</p> - -<p>We landed in New York in winter, and went directly to Hotel Martin, at -that time still in its old site near Washington Square.</p> - -<p>What did I think of America at first? This indeed is the most difficult -question to answer. I was so puzzled that I remained without thoughts. -To begin with, the people, for half-breeds, were extremely presentable. -The redskin ancestral side was quite obliterated. Then the houses, the -streets, the whole appearance of the city was on a par with Paris. What -appalled us all was the dearness of things. I remember the day when we -gave a Greek street vendor one cent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>256</span> for some fruit, and he handed us -one little apple. “Only this for a cent?” we cried; and so indignant -were we that we reclaimed our cent and returned him his apple.</p> - -<p>We managed to do ridiculous things daily. At our first evening meal at -the hotel, a tall glass vase stood in the middle of the table filled -with such strange flowers as we had never seen before. They were pale -greenish white, with streaks of yellow. We thought it very kind of the -proprietor to furnish them for us, and each of us took one and fastened -it on our dress.</p> - -<p>The waiters glanced at us in surprise, but it was nothing to the -sensation we created when we rose to go out of the dining-room. People -nudged each other and stared at us. Of the French maid who came to -unfasten my dress I asked:</p> - -<p>“Do we seem very foreign?”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” she replied, “I should have taken Mademoiselle for a -French girl, except that she wears her hair loose on her back.”</p> - -<p>“Then why did the people in the dining-room stare at us so?”</p> - -<p>She suppressed a giggle. “Yes, I know, Mademoiselle, I have heard about -it. It is the flower Mademoiselle is wearing.”</p> - -<p>“What is the matter with it?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, except that it is not a flower—it is a vegetable, called -celery.”</p> - -<p>I do not know how many more absurd things<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>257</span> we did during the three -weeks we stayed at the hotel. Then we took a flat near Riverside -<a name="Drive" id="Drive"></a><ins title="Original has 'Driver'">Drive</ins> -the rent of which staggered us, but when it came to the -servants we almost wept. Four pounds a month to slovenly girls who were -only half-trained, who made a noise when they walked, and who slammed -the doors every other minute.</p> - -<p>I was anxious to start my English studies at once, for as yet I could -only say “All right,” a phrase which everybody used, <i>à propos</i> of -nothing, it seemed to me. I went to the Normal College to inquire about -the conditions for entering it. The president received me. He was the -first American man with whom I talked. He had lovely white hair, and -a kind, fatherly face. He spoke no French, and sent for a student who -did; and when she translated to him what I wanted, he explained that I -could not enter college until I knew English and could pass my entrance -examinations. The young girl who translated offered to teach me English -for a sum, which, to me, coming from the East and cheap labour and -possessor of small financial resources, seemed preposterous. Still I -liked her eyes: they were dark blue, and green, and grey, all at once, -with long and pretty lashes; so I accepted her offer. That very evening -she gave me my first lesson, and proposed that instead of paying her I -should improve her French in exchange for her English lessons, an offer -that I was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>258</span> very glad to accept. She was my first American friend, and -remains among my very best.</p> - -<p>We had only been a few months in New York when my Greek friends -were obliged to return to Turkey. I resolved to remain behind. I -must confess at once that I did so out of pride alone. New York had -frightened me more than the capture by the brigands, the earthquake, -and an Armenian massacre in which I once found myself, all put -together. Yet to go back was to admit that I had failed, that the world -had beaten me, and after only a very few months.</p> - -<p>I had just sixty dollars, and my courage—robbed a little of its -effervescence. Since I had had only two English lessons a week, and no -practice whatever, because all the people we met spoke French to us, my -vocabulary was very limited, but I managed to get about pretty well. -Once in a shop I asked for “half past three sho-es,” and obtained them -without trouble.</p> - -<p>Before my friends left New York for Constantinople they gave me a -certificate saying that I was qualified to be a governess—for which -I was really as qualified as to drive an engine. Since I had had no -chance to modify my opinion about the origin of Americans, I still -looked upon them as inferiors, and considered myself quite good enough -for them. Taking a small room in a small hotel, I applied to an agency -for a position. It did not prove quite so easy to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>259</span> obtain as I had -thought it would. In the first place, I was not French born; secondly, -I was ridiculously young looking; and then of course I had to admit -that I had been a governess in a way only.</p> - -<p>How amusing it was to be presented as a governess! Most of the ladies -spoke such comical French, and asked questions which I thought even -funnier than their French. I could have found a place at once, if I -had been willing to accept twenty-five dollars a month as a nursery -governess, and eat with the servants.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile most of my money was spent, and to economize I walked miles -and miles rather than take the street cars; and then came the time when -all my money was gone, and I was in arrears with my rent, and had no -money for food.</p> - -<p>I do not wish anyone to suppose that I was miserable. On the contrary, -I liked it: I was at last living the life I had so often read about. I -was one of the great mass of toilers of the earth, whom in my ignorance -I held far superior to the better classes. I had romantic notions about -being a working girl, and my imagination was a fairy’s wand which -transfigured everything. Besides, I was a heroine to myself. Those who -have even for one short hour been heroes to themselves can understand -the exaltation in which I lived, and can share with me in the glory of -those days.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>260</span> -At this time I happened to apply to the Greek newspaper for a position, -not because I thought there was any chance for me, but because it was -so interesting to apply for work. Every time I applied to a new person, -it was a new adventure; and I had applied so many times, and been -rejected so often, that I did not mind it any more. I knew that if the -worst came to the worst I could for a time become a servant. I was well -trained in domestic work and could cook pretty well; for, when we Greek -girls are not at school, a competent person is engaged to come into the -house and train us systematically in all branches of housekeeping. The -idea of becoming a servant, of entering an American home and obtaining -a nearer view of my half-breeds within their own walls appealed to me. -What I objected to, was being hired as a governess and treated as a -servant.</p> - -<p>To my surprise, the Greek newspaper, a weekly then, took me at once on -its staff. I was delirious with joy, not so much because I was going -to earn money as at the idea of working on a newspaper. It seemed so -glorious, so at the top of everything.</p> - -<p>Just at this time—at the agency, I think—I heard of a French home, -far out on the West Side in the vicinity of Twenty-third Street, where -French working girls stayed while seeking positions. I went there, and -made arrangements<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>261</span> to stay a few months; and from there sought my hotel -proprietor. I told him that the Greek newspaper had engaged me at a -salary which did not permit me to live at his hotel, and what was more -that I could not at the moment pay him what I owed him—three weeks’ -rent, I believe—but that I would pay him as soon as possible. He was -very nice about the matter, and said it would be “all right,” though I -doubt very much if he ever expected to see his money.</p> - -<p>My work on the newspaper was hard and tedious. I am a bad speller, and -can write a word in five different ways on one page without discovering -it. On account of this failing I was often taken to task by the editor -in chief, who was the proprietor, and had some black moments over it, -until one of the type-setters quietly suggested to me that I should -pass over my stuff to him and he would correct the spelling before the -editor saw it, which I did ever after, and was very thankful to him.</p> - -<p>My newspaper work was not only of long, long hours, but it absorbed -all my time, as well as my energy and strength, and shortly after -undertaking it I had to give up my English studies. I was too worn out -physically and mentally to continue them.</p> - -<p>It was not so bad during the cold weather, but suddenly, without the -slightest warning, the cold gave place to burning heat. There was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>262</span> no -spring. That lovely transition period in which all is soft, both in -air and in colours, did not exist in that American year. The summer -burst fiercely over the city and scorched it in a few days. It grilled -the pavements; it grilled the houses; it multiplied and magnified -the noises of horse and elevated cars, of street-hawkers and yelling -children—and these noises in turn seemed to accentuate the heat. Every -morning I took the Sixth Avenue elevated train at Twenty-Third Street, -and all the way to the Battery there was hardly a tree or a blade of -grass to meet the tired eye, to -<a name="soothe" id="soothe"></a><ins title="Original has 'sooth'">soothe</ins> -the over-wrought nerves, nothing -but ugly buildings—ugly and dirty. And as the train whizzed along, -the glimpses I had of the people inside these buildings were even -more disheartening than the ugliness and dirtiness of the buildings -themselves.</p> - -<p>And this was my America, the country of the promised land. It seemed -to me then as if my golden dream had turned into a hideous nightmare -of fact—a nightmare which threatened to engulf me and cast me into -that unrecognizable mass continually forming by the failures of life. -That I did not sink down into it was, because, in spite of the hideous -reality, I remained a dreamer, and those who live in dreams are rarely -quelled by reality. In that fearful, hot, New York summer I began to -dream another dream which made the heat more tolerable. Daily, as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>263</span> -the elevated train noised its way to the Battery, I imagined myself -having succeeded, having amassed wealth, from which I made gifts to the -thousands of toilers in that scorched city. I planted trees for them -everywhere, along the streets, along the avenues; and wherever there -was a little vacant plot of land I converted it into a tiny park. There -I saw the people sitting under the shade of my trees, and so real did -my dream become that I began actually to live it, and suffered less -from the heat myself; for I was constantly on the look out for new -spots where I could plant more trees.</p> - -<p>At luncheon time I used to go out for a little stroll on the Battery, -and there I used to see immigrant women, dressed partially in their -native costumes, and surrounded by numbers of their little ones, -jabbering in their own lingo. One day I sat down near a solitary woman, -unmistakably an Italian peasant.</p> - -<p>“Hot to-day, isn’t it?” I said in her own tongue.</p> - -<p>From the sea, slowly she raised her eyes to me. I smiled at her, but -received no response.</p> - -<p>“You look very tired,” I said, “and so am I. I suppose you are thinking -of your own country, of fields and trees, are you not?”</p> - -<p>“How did you know?” she demanded sullenly.</p> - -<p>“Because I do the same myself. I also am<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>264</span> an immigrant. You look across -the sea with the same yearning in your eyes as is in my heart, for we -are both homesick.”</p> - -<p>She was no longer cross, after this, and because another woman was -sharing in her misery that misery became lighter. She began to tell me -of her sorrow. She had buried her second baby in two weeks, because of -the heat. Her lap was now empty. She spat viciously on the water. “That -is what I have in my heart for America—that!” and again she spat.</p> - -<p>I volunteered an account of my own disillusionment about America; and -there we sat at the edge of the Battery, two sad immigrants, telling -each other of the beauties we had left behind, and of the difficulties -we had to fight in the present. If I had then known a little of the -history of America, I might have told her of the first immigrants, -of how much they had to suffer and endure, and for what the present -Thanksgiving Day stood. I might have told her more of their hardships, -and how they had had to plant corn on the graves of their dear ones, -so that the Indians should not find out how many of them had died—but -I was as ignorant as she, and we only knew of our own homesickness and -misery.</p> - -<p>The heat had started early in May, and it kept on getting hotter and -hotter, with only sudden and savage thunderstorms, which passed over<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>265</span> -the city like outraged spirits, and deluged it for a few hours with -rain that became steam as soon as it touched the scorched pavements. -Occasionally some fresh wind would penetrate into the city, as if bent -on missionary work; but it was soon conquered by the demons of heat. It -grew hotter and hotter. It seemed as if the city would perish in its -own heat—and then came the month of August!</p> - -<p>I shall never forget that August. Even now, wherever I am during -that month, my spirit goes back to that desolate city to share in -the sufferings of its poor people who have to work long hours in hot -offices, and then at night try to sleep in small, still hotter rooms, -with the fiendish noise of the city outside. And it is then again that -my dream comes back to me, to give trees all along the streets and all -along the avenues, and shady open spaces to breathe in.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>266</span> -</div> - -<h2 id="xxi">CHAPTER XXI<br /> -<span>IN REAL AMERICA</span></h2> - - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was in meeting again the hotel proprietor, when I went back to pay -him my debt, that I first realized what a summer in the land of promise -had done for me. He did not know me at all. Thinking it quite natural -he should not remember one among the thousands he saw yearly, I tried -to recall myself to his memory.</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean to say,” he cried, “that you are the child who was here -a few months ago! Have you been ill?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Then what have you done to yourself?”</p> - -<p>I had not done anything to myself, but the work and the heat had robbed -me of all my colour, of half my hair, and of pounds of weight.</p> - -<p>At the French home my fellow-inmates were mostly of the servant class. -They were very kind to me: they made my bed, swept my room, washed my -hair, did my little mending, and even brought me sweets. They expressed -the hope that I should meet some nice American who would offer me -marriage, yet they confessed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>267</span> that American people were singularly -devoid of sentiment.</p> - -<p>Several months after I was on the staff of the newspaper, an American -scholar, who was writing a book on the Greek language, came to the -office to see if he could find some one to work with him, and the -proprietor recommended me. At his house I met his wife, who at once -took an interest in me. Since she spoke very little French and I no -more English, our progress was slow; but both of them were very kind -to me. The husband became my regular pupil, paying me for one hour’s -Greek lesson every day more than I was receiving from the newspaper -for all my time. So I decided to give up my position with the latter, -where there was really no chance for advancement, and devote myself to -teaching and studying.</p> - -<p>It was necessary for me at this time to change quarters. I could not -keep on living in a place where I had no companionship; so my Greek -pupil put an advertisement in the newspaper for me, saying that I -was an educated young Greek girl, who would exchange French or Greek -lessons for a home.</p> - -<p>From the replies to my advertisement he chose a school, and I went -to see the principal. She, too, had blue eyes, which had become the -symbol of kindness to me. She knew French, and we were able to speak -together. She wished me to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>268</span> coach a girl in Greek, to pass her entrance -examinations, and for this she was willing not only to give me my room -and board but my laundry. I at once moved to the school, and here ended -the first chapter of my American life.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was now living in an American school, surrounded by Americans. I was -to see them live their American lives. One may imagine how interested I -was. The school had about a hundred day scholars, ranging from four to -twenty years of age; and twenty boarders, representing almost as many -States, and who—even to my untrained ears—spoke in almost as many -different ways.</p> - -<p>As a teacher of Greek I failed utterly. My pupil read a Greek I -could not follow, even with the text-book in my hand. My beautiful, -musical mother-tongue was massacred in the mouth of that girl, and -she understood me not at all. A living, thrilling language, with a -literature to-day on a par with the best of Europe’s, and spoken by -over ten million people, had to be considered as dead, and pronounced -in a barbaric and ridiculous manner. The girl was very angry at me when -I told her she did not pronounce it correctly. She informed me that -the ancient Greeks pronounced Greek as she did, and that I, the lineal -descendent of this people whose language had been handed down<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>269</span> without -a break from father to son, and who used the very words of Plato every -day, did not know how to pronounce it. With what delight I should have -boxed her ears, only I had to remember that I was no longer I, but a -teacher, exchanging lessons for my living.</p> - -<p>After several lessons together she went to the principal and told her -that I was quite unfitted to teach her, and that she was only wasting -her time.</p> - -<p>The principal and I had a conference. “I can’t teach her,” I admitted, -“unless I learn to pronounce my own language in the execrable way she -does.”</p> - -<p>So far then as the school was concerned I had failed. I was a -Greek—but could not teach Greek! The thought of leaving the school -hurt me, because I had become very fond of the principal, who even used -to come to my room sometimes and kiss me good night.</p> - -<p>She offered me an alternative. “Wouldn’t you like to teach the little -girls French, talk French with the boarders, take them to church and -out for their walks?”</p> - -<p>I was delighted to accept this proposal. Not being permitted to speak -any English with the pupils materially impeded my own progress; but -there was a girl in the school who lived there without being a pupil, -and who, although she spoke French fluently, often talked English with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>270</span> -me, to give me practice. We became very good friends: she said I was to -be her daughter, and she would be my mother. To her I owe a great deal -of the pleasure I had during my first few years in America.</p> - -<p>The principal of the school also took the greatest pains with my -English. It is true, she did not permit me to speak it with the girls, -but she herself spoke it constantly with me. I could have had no better -person to take as a pattern, for she had a lovely accent, the best to -be found among Anglo-Saxons anywhere. She chose the books I was to -read, and told me the phrases to use, as if I were her most expensive -pupil.</p> - -<p>My general impression of America now was kindness. It was given to me -with the lavishness which is one of the chief characteristics of the -Americans. Yet because they were so different from the people I was -accustomed to, I could not understand them at all, and misunderstanding -them I could not exactly love them. In spite of their kindness they -had a certain crudity of manner, which constantly hurt me. Besides, -they seemed to me to live their lives in blazing lights. I missed -the twilights and starlights, the poetry and charm of our life at -home—just as I missed the spring in their calendar.</p> - -<p>It will perhaps surprise Americans to hear that, in spite of the -excellent table at the school,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>271</span> I was almost starved before I could -learn to eat American food. It seemed to me painfully tasteless: the -beef and mutton were so tough, compared to the meat in Turkey, and all -the vegetables were cooked in water—while as for the potatoes I had -never seen such quantities in my life. We had them for breakfast, for -luncheon, and for dinner, in some form or other. Just before we sat -down to table the principal said grace, in which were the words, “Bless -that of which we are about to partake.” To my untrained ear “partake” -and “potatoes” sounded exactly alike, and I wrote home that the -Americans not only ate potatoes morning, noon, and night, but that they -even prayed to the Lord to keep them supplied with potatoes, instead of -daily bread.</p> - -<p>My Greek pupil and his wife, and also my first American friend of the -Normal College found me pupils, so that I now earned considerable -money. My outside pupils, mostly married women, were very nice to -me; but I felt that they did not quite know how to take me. I had a -terribly direct way of speaking; and, being still under the impression -that as a nation they were my inferiors, my attitude must have -displayed something of that feeling.</p> - -<p>I began to be asked out to luncheons and dinners—partly as a freak, I -am afraid—and at one of these dinners I became the victim of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>272</span> American -humour. Happening to mention that I was surprised at not seeing any -real Americans in New York, I was asked what I meant. I explained that -I meant pure-blooded Indians. Thereupon my host very soberly told me -that I could see them any day at five o’clock, on Broadway, at the -corner where now stands the beautiful Flatiron building. He cautioned -me to be there at five exactly.</p> - -<p>The very first day I was free I went to the designated corner. I -arrived at half-past four, and waited there till almost six, without -seeing one Indian. Fearing that I had made a mistake in the corner, -I went into a shop and, in my broken English, made inquiries. Two or -three clerks gathered together and discussed the problem, and then one -of them, repressing a smile, said to me: “I am afraid some one has -played a joke on you. There are no Indians to be seen anywhere in New -York, except in shows.”</p> - -<p>That evening at school I told the whole story at table, feeling highly -indignant, and believing that my hearers would share my indignation. To -my amazement every one burst out laughing, and declared it to be the -best joke they had heard for a long time. Some of the girls even said -they should write home and tell it, because it was so “terribly funny.”</p> - -<p>Their attitude was a revelation to me. My host had deceived me, and -had wasted two hours<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>273</span> of my time and my strength, by giving me a piece -of information that he knew to be false; yet every one thought it -delightfully humorous. The only excuse I could find for this conduct -was that they were a nation of half-breeds, and did not know any -better. Indeed, as time went on, American humour was to me the most -disagreeable part of Americans. It lacked finesse: it was not funny to -me—only undeveloped and childish. Daily I was told that I had no sense -of humour, and that, like an Englishman, I needed a surgical operation -to appreciate what was so highly appreciable.</p> - -<p>Finally, I got very tired of being told I had no humour and could not -understand an American joke; so I determined to prove to them that I -not only understood their silly jokes but could play them myself, if I -chose. Now to me the essence of an American joke was a lie, told with a -sober face, and in an earnest voice. I played one on a girl boarder. To -my surprise, the girl, instead of laughing, began to cry and sob, and -almost went into hysterics. It made a great rumpus in the school, and -the principal sent for me.</p> - -<p>“My dear, is what you said true?” she asked, with the greatest concern.</p> - -<p>“No, not a word of it,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Then why did you say it to the poor girl?”</p> - -<p>“To deceive her, and play an American joke on her.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>274</span> -The principal stared at me an instant, and then burst into immoderate -laughter. She called the victim and the other older girls to her and -explained my joke, and they all went into peels of laughter. In spite -of its inauspicious beginning my American joke was a huge success; -and I could not understand why both the principal and my “mother” -united—after their amusement had subsided—in cautioning me to make no -more American jokes.</p> - -<p>For one year I stayed at the school; then, having saved some money from -my private lessons, and having enough pupils assured me for the coming -year, I decided to leave the school and go into a private family, for -the sake of my English, and also in order to see American home life. -I still felt very ignorant about the American people: in their own -way they were so complex, and they could not be judged by European -standards.</p> - -<p>Almost with stupefaction do I read the interviews reported by the -newspapers with distinguished and undistinguished foreigners, who, -after a few days’ sojourn in the United States, and a bird’s-eye -view of the country, give out their comprehensive and eulogistic -opinions. They fill me with amazement, and I wonder whether these other -foreigners are so much cleverer than I, or whether they are playing an -American joke on the American people.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>275</span> -The family with whom I went to live turned out to be a Danish husband -with a German wife. Their children, however, were born and brought -up in America, so that I did mingle with Americans of the first -generation. That year away from school enabled me to poke around -a lot, in all sorts of corners and by-corners of New York. I took -my luncheon daily in a different place, and spoke to all sorts of -people, and heard what they had to say. The papers I read faithfully, -and every free evening I would attend some public meeting, from a -spiritualistic séance to any sort of a lecture. I also spent one entire -night in the streets of New York. All the afternoon I slept. At seven -o’clock I dressed and went to dinner alone in one of the so-called -best restaurants of Broadway, and then to the play. The time between -half-past eleven and five in the morning I spent in walking in Broadway -and in Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Avenues. I took the elevated train to -the Battery, then up to Harlem, and down again by another line. New -York at night is very different from New York in the daytime. It seemed -to me that even the types which inhabited it were different, and I saw -a great deal which was not pleasant to see; but no one bothered me, -either by word or look.</p> - -<p>Before this year I used to think that to be absolutely free, to go and -come as I pleased,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>276</span> would be the acme of happiness; to have no one to -question my actions, to be responsible only to myself would be the -<i>koryphe</i> of freedom. Yet this year, when I was free to go and -come as I pleased, and had no one to whom I had to give any account -of my actions, I found to be the most desolate of my life, and my -freedom weighed on me far more than ever restraint had at home. I came -to realize that though an individual I was part of a whole, and must -remain a part of that whole in order to enjoy life.</p> - -<p>That year humanized me, so to speak, and made me understand the reason -for much that I used to laugh at before—such, for example, as the -spinster’s devotion to her rector, to settlement work, or even to a -parrot, a cat, or a dog. Whenever now I see a woman in a carriage with -a dog on her lap, I may join with those who laugh at her; but at the -same time I wonder if it may not be poverty and loneliness of life -which make that woman, rich in money, lavish the treasures of her heart -on a dumb creature.</p> - -<p>At the end of the year I returned to the school, and willingly placed -myself again in harness. During this year I made the acquaintance of -John Fisk’s books, and discovered the error of my preconceived notions -about the American people and their origin. He taught me who the early -settlers really were, whence, and why they had come. I read of their -privations and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>277</span> struggles, and of their ultimate success. For the first -time I looked upon this continent as peopled by the white race, and the -shame I felt for my past ignorance was only mitigated by my desire to -atone for it. I mapped out a thorough course of reading, and all the -spare time of that year and the next was devoted to systematic study of -American history, literature and poetry.</p> - -<p>And, as I read American history, it came over me how different the -beginning of this race was from the beginning of all the other -civilized nations of the world. Whereas the others all started by a -strong barbaric race descending upon a weaker people and seizing their -cattle and their lands by brute force, America alone started with the -great middle classes of all civilized races, who came to the new world, -not with brute force as their weapon, but with the desire to carry out -in a wild and virgin country the spiritual and social development they -craved. What a marvellous, unprecedented beginning! What a heritage for -their sons! I am afraid many of them do not appreciate the greatness -of that beginning, otherwise why should they try to go beyond those -early settlers and seek to establish their descent from William the -Conqueror, or some little sprig of nobility, and make themselves -ridiculous where they ought to be sublime?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>278</span> -By temperament I am afraid I am something of an extremist. My barely -tolerant attitude toward my new country changed into a wholly -reverential one. I desired to become an American myself, considering -it a great honour, as in the olden days people came from all over -the world to Greece, to become that country’s citizens. I started my -Americanism by adopting its brusqueness—it is an unfortunate fact -that one is as likely to imitate the faults of those one admires as -the virtues—but brusqueness which is so characteristic of America -is mitigated by its young blood and by its buoyancy, and we of the -old bloods can very little afford that trait. It must have made a -poor combination in me, and many people must have found it hard to -tolerate. The principal of the school told me, during my third year -with her, that I had so completely changed in manners as to be hardly -recognizable. When I first came to live with her, she said, I had had -exquisite and charming manners; now, I had become as brusque as any raw -western girl. She little understood that she was attacking my new garb -of Americanism.</p> - -<p>The school year began in October and ended in May, leaving me four -months to my own devices. Two vacations I spent in a fashionable summer -resort, not far from New York, where I not only had pupils enough to -pay my expenses but ample time to read English and American<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>279</span> books, and -also opportunity to study the attitude of rich Americans toward a girl -earning her own living—an attitude not very different from ours in the -Old World. One summer I spent in a working girl’s vacation home, where -all the girls were shop girls, and where I met the proletariat of the -New World on an equal footing. And once I spent the entire four months -visiting in the mountains of North Carolina, where I learned how much -more American money is needed for schools there than in Constantinople, -where it goes, not to civilize the Turks but to educate at the least -possible expense to themselves the children of well-to-do Bulgarians, -Greeks, and Armenians—especially the first. And the recent actions of -the Bulgarians have proved eloquently how little American education -helps them; for American civilization must be sought—it cannot be -imposed from without.</p> - -<p>My third year at school, the head French teacher left it, and the -principal offered me her place; and so, four years after I landed in -the new world I was at the head of the French department of one of the -best private schools in New York City. I had many good friends, was -making considerable money outside the school, and was studying at the -University of New York. To all appearance I had succeeded; yet truth -compels me to confess that, so far as my inner self was concerned, I -was a total failure.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>280</span> -I had thought that if I were to join the great army of the world’s -workers, and lead my life as seemed to me worthy; if I were to cut -loose from the conventions and traditions which hampered my development -in the old world, happiness would come to me. Far from it! I realized -then that I was only one of the victims of that terrible disease, -Restlessness, which has taken hold of women the world over. We are -dissatisfied with the lines of development and action imposed by our -sex, and the causes of our dissatisfaction are so many that I shall -not even try to enumerate them. The terrible fact remains that in our -discontent we rush from this to that remedy, hoping vainly that each -new one will lead to peace. We have even come to believe that political -equality is the remedy for our disease. Very soon, let us hope, we -shall possess that nostrum, too. When we find ourselves politically -equal with men, and on a par with them in the arena of economics, we -may discover that these extraneous changes are not what we need. We -may then, by looking deep down into our own hearts see whether, as -women, we have really done the best we could by ourselves. We may -then find out the real cause for our discontent, and deliberately and -with our own hands draw the line of demarcation again between men and -women, and devote ourselves to developing that greater efficiency<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>281</span> in -ourselves along our own lines, which is the only remedy for our present -restlessness.</p> - -<p>I believe that only then shall we find contentment and a better -equality than the one for which to-day some of us are even committing -lawlessness.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>282</span> -</div> - - -<h2 id="xxii">CHAPTER XXII<br /> -<span>BACK TO TURKEY</span></h2> - -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">Y</span>ET after I had come to believe that these conclusions of mine were the -right ones—and at the present moment I still believe them to be so—I -did not rise, pack my trunk and return to my home. On the contrary, -disillusioned though I was, I meant to stay in America. My little self -felt pledged to the onward fight, into which evolution has plunged us. -My generation belongs to that advance guard which will live to see the -fight ended in America, and I must be present, after the great victory -is won, to see how we shall face the reconstruction period. This was -the reason why, when my mother, about to undergo a serious operation, -sent for me to be with her, I bought my return ticket before leaving -America, and kept it always with me—ready for use at a moment’s notice.</p> - -<p>The love of our native land forms an indelible part of our souls. A mad -joy possessed me all the way from New York to Genoa; a delirium from -Genoa to the Dardanelles; and from the straits to the harbour I was -speechless with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>283</span> emotion. How wonderful my empress city looked, when -the mist gradually lifted and disclosed her to my homesick eyes. Up to -that moment I had thought never to see her enchanting face again; yet -there I was, standing on the promenade deck of a commonplace steamer, -while she was giving me—me, her runaway child—all her smiles and all -her glory.</p> - -<p>We must be very strong, that we do not sometimes die of joy.</p> - -<p>When the little tender docked at the quay of Galata, how I should have -loved to have escaped the customs bother, the many and one greetings, -and the hundred and several more stupid words one has to say on -disembarking. Yet having acquired a little wisdom, I was patient with -the custom-house men, and polite to the people who had been sent to -meet me. Obediently even I entered the carriage which was to take me -up, up on the seven hills where we Christians live.</p> - -<p>Not till several days afterwards was I free to start on my pilgrimage; -and as I walked up and down the main streets, and in and out of the -narrow, crooked, dirty lanes, which lead one enticingly onward—often -to nowhere—I was aware that my pilgrimage had a double aim. First, I -wanted to recognize my old haunts, and second, to find that part of -myself which had once lived within those quarters. Alas! if the streets -were the same, I was not. Where was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>284</span> the girl, full of enthusiasm -and dreams, who had trod these same streets? Something within me had -changed. Was it my faith in mankind, or my faith in life itself?</p> - -<p>As I walked on, unconsciously I was picturing these same streets, -clean, full of life and bustle, were Turkey to belong to America. I -could see the trolleys they would have here, the terraces they would -build there, the magnificent buildings they would erect, and all the -civilized things they would bring to my mother country. My eyes, -Americanized by the progress of the new world, kept seeing things that -ought to be done, and were left undone, for no other reason than that -they had been left undone for hundreds of years. The saddest of all sad -things is when one begins to see the faults and failings of one’s own -beloved, be it a person or a country. I hated myself for finding fault -with Turkey because she was clad in a poor, unkempt garb.</p> - -<p>Before the Galata Tower, just where the streets form a cross, I turned -to the left, and walked to the next street. At its entrance the leader -of a band of dogs rose from his slumbers and barked at me angrily. -I started, and then stood still. This was a street where once I had -lived, and the canine leader barking at me was the same as six years -ago, only older, more unkempt, and filthier. It hurt me to have him -bark at me. It meant that he did not know me—or did he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>285</span> with his -doggish intuition feel that I was disloyal in my heart to the old -régime?</p> - -<p>“Why, Giaour!” I cried, “don’t you know me? We used to be friends, you -and I.”</p> - -<p>He stood rigidly on his old legs, his band alert to follow his lead. -These dogs, which were anathema to the stranger, had a double duty -to perform in their unhappy city. They were not only scavengers, but -the defenders of her defenceless quarters. The stranger only saw -their scarred bodies and ugly appearance; but we who were born in -Constantinople knew how they formed their bands, and how they protected -us. Each quarter had some twenty dogs, and they guarded it both against -other dogs, and against strangers. The young ones, as they grew up, had -to win their spurs, and their position was determined by their bravery -and skill, both in fighting and in commanding. I had seen Giaour win -his leadership, a month or so before I left Constantinople. He had been -nicknamed Giaour by a Turkish <i>kapoudji</i>, because he had a white -cross plainly marked on his face.</p> - -<p>To my entreaties he only stood growling. “Come, Giaour,” I begged, “I -have changed, I know, but I am still enough myself for you not to bark -at me.”</p> - -<p>He listened, mistrustfully watching every movement I made, and because -of this I perpetrated a shameful deed. I retreated to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>286</span> Galderim -Gedjesi, bought a loaf at the baker’s, and with the bribe in my hand -returned. The band was now lying down, but Giaour was still standing, -his pantallettes shaking in a ruffled and disturbed fashion. In his -heart, perhaps, he was not pleased with himself for having barked at me.</p> - -<p>I approached him, the bread in my hand. After all, is not Turkey the -land of bribes?</p> - -<p>“Come, Giaour!” I went and sat down on a door-step. Slowly and with -dignity he followed. “Here is some bread from the baker’s for you, and -please try to remember me! It is more than I can bear to have you bark -at me, Giaour.”</p> - -<p>He sniffed at the piece of bread I offered him; then ate it, and then -another piece, and another. When he had finished the entire loaf he -placed both his paws on my lap and studied my face intently.</p> - -<p>“Giaour, you know me now, don’t you?” I begged. “I used to live here -six years ago, though it seems like ages.”</p> - -<p>From across the way an Englishman came out of a house and approached -me, where I sat with Giaour’s paws in my lap. “I beg your pardon,” he -said shyly, lifting his hat, “but you are a stranger here, and those -fellows are dangerous. Besides they are unhealthy.”</p> - -<p>This was the last straw: he took me for a foreigner.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>287</span> -“Thank you,” I replied, “but I am not afraid. The fact is, we are of -the same kennel, Giaour and I.”</p> - -<p>“Kennel—h’m!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know Giaour has never seen a kennel, as you understand it in -England; but he has a fine doggish soul, just the same.”</p> - -<p>“H’m!” the Englishman sniffed again, “perhaps he has,” and lifting his -hat, he went away.</p> - -<p>It is a curious fact that unless an Englishman in England knows you, -he would rather perish than speak to you first; on the Continent he -would rather be rude to you than decent; but in Turkey his nature -seems to change, and he is really a nice human being. As I watched the -man go away I was thinking that if England were governing Turkey how -delightful everything would be. Yes, England would be the one nation -to succeed with Turkey. America was too bustling, after all, and had -too little experience. Germany had too much paternalism and discipline; -Austria-Hungary lacked fundamental honesty; while as for Russia—that -ought never to be. Russian bureaucracy, grafted on the corrupt Turkish -stem would only make matters worse. But England, with her love of -order and decency, and with just enough discipline to put matters to -rights—how delightful it would be, and how the Turks would enjoy -stopping whatever they were doing, at four<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>288</span> o’clock, to have tea! Alas! -between Mr Gladstone’s indiscreet utterances, and Sir Elliot’s bad -management, England let her hour slip by, and Turkey was deprived of -her one chance to be regenerated.</p> - -<p>Giaour threw back his head and emitted a howl. It was strident and -harsh, the howl of the plains of Asia; for Giaour was of the blood of -the once monarchs of the East, though now he was a ragged, diseased -dog—scavenger, and soldier of fortune.</p> - -<p>Lovingly my hand patted his old head. “Ah, Giaour, my boy, these are -hard days for thee and thy race, and even I am recreant in my heart to -thee. Forgive me! Perhaps the Powers, in not agreeing among themselves, -have reached the only possible agreement at present—the Turk in -Constantinople.”</p> - -<p>I took his paws and put them down. “Don’t bark at me again, old boy.”</p> - -<p>He waved his stump of a tail, just a tiny bit. He had eaten my bread, -he had looked into my eyes, yet he was not quite certain of me. Perhaps -he, too, had lost faith in life and in mankind.</p> - -<p>On leaving Giaour, I plunged into that tangle of streets through which -one may deviously find one’s way to Kara-keuy. To a stranger it is a -veritable labyrinth; but though I have little sense of locality I could -still find my way through<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>289</span> it. It is one of the few thoroughly oriental -quarters left on this side of the Galata Bridge.</p> - -<p>Arrived at Kara-Keuy I stopped happily, watching the life about me. How -delightfully—how terribly—everything was the same. From afar I heard -a cry—“<i>Varda!</i>” and then saw the half-clad figure of the runner, -who, waving a red flag to right and to left, was warning pedestrians -that the street-car was coming. Ah! this was indeed my Constantinople, -disdained by progress, forgotten by time. How emblematic was this -runner before the street-car. He reminded me of the cynical words of -the crafty Russian statesman, Ignatief, who once exclaimed: “They talk -of regenerating Turkey—as if that were possible even to the Almighty -above.”</p> - -<p>My dear, dear Turkey! She may start over again in Asia, but be -regenerated in Europe——?</p> - -<p>For a little while I walked on, and then entering a small -confectioner’s shop, frequented only by Turks, and squatting like them -on a low stool, I ordered a <i>kourous</i> worth of <i>boughatcha</i>. -I ate it with my fingers, like the others. Near me sat two young -students of theology, talking politics. Their tone as much as their -words made me see bloodshed. In some ways the Turks are one of the -finest races, but they have been losing ground for the last two -hundred years and it hurts them, and in their heart they see red. No -wonder they make others see it,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>290</span> too. The conversation of the young -<i>softas</i> was full of the sanguine colour. This was shortly after -1897. Turkey had just defeated Greece, and the old feeling of arrogance -was uppermost in the breasts of Mahomet’s followers.</p> - -<p>“Fork them out! Fork them out, the giaours,” cried the younger of the -two. “They are only fit for fodder, those Christian dogs.”</p> - -<p>I should have liked to linger over my <i>boughatcha</i>, but the -tension of the tone betrayed a heat above the normal. I paid my -<i>kourous</i>, and left the shop, praying both to the Christian God -and to the Mohammedan one that they might let these misguided children -see stretches of peaceful green, instead of always red.</p> - -<p>Slowly, slowly, now, I walked to the Galata Bridge, and turned to the -right, just behind the <i>karakol</i> which houses the main body of the -Galata police. I was on my way to hunt up old Ali Baba, my boatman, him -with whom years ago I had shared the raptures of the Byzantine History. -My heart was beating fast. Would Turkey play me false this once? Would -the one living landmark of my past be chosen as the one to mark a -change in that changeless country?</p> - -<p>Hastening, I yet found myself lingering in my haste. If his place were -to be empty, if he were really gone, having himself been rowed over the -river Styx, would it not be better for me not to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>291</span> go there, but always -to remember his place filled by his kindly presence?</p> - -<p>Though reasoning thus, my feet still took me onward to where he used to -be, and there, at his accustomed place, sat Ali Baba, his face looking -like a nice red apple, wrinkled by the sun and rain.</p> - -<p>I went and stood before him. “Ali Baba!” I said, tears in my voice.</p> - -<p>He rose, a trifle less quickly than he used to, and looked at me -incredulously.</p> - -<p>“<i>Benim kuchouk, hanoum</i>,” he said slowly, rubbing his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Oh! it is I!” I cried. “It is I,” and gave him both my hands.</p> - -<p>We walked toward the little caïque, where he took some time to unfasten -the rope. We did not speak until he had rowed again mid-way, under the -bridge.</p> - -<p>“Where have you been all these many, many years?” he asked -reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“I have been to America.” I replied, “the newest and biggest of all -countries”—and as of old I was talking, and he was listening; only -this time it was not of the past, and of the people, who, having done -their work, were dead and forgotten, but of a country of a great -present, and a still greater future. And as of old his old face was -full of interest and kindness.</p> - -<p>Presently he asked, “But my little lady, what<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>292</span> have you done with the -roses of your face? You are pale and worn out.”</p> - -<p>“One has to work hard in America,” I replied. “It is a country which -requires of your best, of your utmost, if you are to succeed.” And -again I went on to tell him of the fast trains which go sixty miles an -hour, of the elevated trains, flying above the middle of the streets, -and of the preparations for the subways, which were to burrow in the -depths of the city.</p> - -<p>“But why are they working so hard and preparing so much?” he asked, a -bit bewildered. “After all they will have to die, and when they are -dead they can only have a grave like anybody else.”</p> - -<p>I shook my head. “They are making away with the graves, my Ali Baba. -They have invented a quicker and more expedient way of getting rid of -the body. They place it on a table in a special room, and within two -hours all that is left of it is a simple white strip of clean ashes.”</p> - -<p>He gasped. “They have done that?” he cried in horror. “They have -done that! Allah, can’st thou forgive them?” He leaned towards me, -earnestness and entreaty in his kind face. “Don’t go back there, my -little one, don’t go back there again. It is an accursed country which -steals the peace from the living, their bodies from the dead, and robs -a child of her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>293</span> roses. Say that you are not going back, my little one.”</p> - -<p>Again I shook my head. “When I left there, my Ali Baba, I bought my -return-ticket. I wear it like an amulet around my neck. I am going back -as soon as my presence is no longer needed here.”</p> - -<p>He let his oars drop. “You are going back?” he asked with awe. “But -why?”</p> - -<p>I looked at him, and beyond him at old Byzantium—once Greek, now full -of minarets and mosques and all they stood for. A red Turkish flag -floated idly against the indigo sky.</p> - -<p>Why was I going back to that vast new country so diametrically -different from his own? Could I explain to him?</p> - -<p>No, I could not, any more than I could have explained, years ago, to my -little Turkish Kiamelé the meaning of my grand-uncle’s gift on my fifth -birthday.</p> - -<p>“Why are you going back?” Ali Baba insisted.</p> - -<p>No, I could not tell him: he could not understand.</p> - -<p>His flag was the Crescent, mine was the Cross.</p> - - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -</div> - -<p class="center p160">THE SOUL OF A TURK</p> - -<p class="center"><small>BY</small><br /> -VICTORIA DE BUNSEN</p> - -<p class="center"><i>With 8 Illustrations</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Demy 8vo, 10s. 6d. net</i></p> - -<p><cite>Morning Post.</cite>—“The most delightful books are those which either -depict the characters of men and women, or those which reveal the -personality of the writer. Mrs De Bunsen’s account of her travels in -the Near East combines both these charms.”</p> - -<p><cite>Westminster Gazette.</cite>—“‘The Soul of a Turk’ is an interesting, -well-written book.”</p> - -<p><cite>Evening Standard.</cite>—“Mrs De Bunsen’s volume must have a niche all -to itself in the great library built up by travellers in Turkey. It -does actually fulfil the promise of its title.”</p> - -<p><cite>Daily Telegraph.</cite>—“It is an admirable and suggestive piece of -portraiture.”</p> - -<p><cite>Spectator.</cite>—“For insight and sympathy with the Oriental mind, -we have not read anything better than these pages for a long time. We -thoroughly commend this book to every one who enjoys following the -travels of a plucky, entertaining, and exceptionally intelligent woman.”</p> - -<p><cite>Athenæum.</cite>—“This delightful book is no mere collection of -‘ritual acts.’ It is full of shrewd observations on the people.”</p> - -<p><cite>Observer.</cite>—“Mrs De Bunsen’s book is no ordinary book of travel, -but really a very suggestive and thoughtful treatise on the faiths and -customs of the Eastern Turks, illuminated with a woman’s sympathy.”</p> - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<p class="center p140 underscore">BOOKS BY STEPHEN GRAHAM</p> -</div> - -<p class="center p160">CHANGING RUSSIA</p> - -<p class="center">A TRAMP ALONG THE BLACK SEA SHORE AND IN THE URALS</p> - -<p class="center"><i>With 15 Illustrations and a Map. Demy 8vo, 7s. 6d. net</i></p> - -<p><cite>Pall Mall Gazette.</cite>—“A beautifully written book which reveals -the Russian people with a sympathy and a delicacy of perception that -are unsurpassed probably even in the work of the most gifted Russian -writers of to-day.”</p> - - -<p class="center p160">UNDISCOVERED RUSSIA</p> - -<p class="center"><i>With 16 Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 12s. 6d. net</i></p> - -<p><cite>The Spectator.</cite>—“Mr Graham writes so well that the aspects of -his subject tend to transfigure themselves under the spell of a style -whose delicate phrasing and soft melancholy often remind one of Loti’s -subtle-hued visions of men and things seen from beneath the half-closed -eyelids of artist and dreamer. Certainly there is in Mr Graham’s mood -and expression some elusively un-English element that makes his work -read at times like perfectly translated French. Still, his sadness -has its source, not in the passive weariness of Loti, surfeited with -civilisation and experience, but in the mysticism of a born wanderer.”</p> - - -<p class="center p160">A VAGABOND IN THE CAUCASUS</p> - -<p class="center">WITH SOME NOTES OF HIS EXPERIENCES AMONG THE RUSSIANS</p> - -<p class="center"><i>With 16 Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 12s. 6d. net</i></p> - -<p><cite>Country Life.</cite>—“With a waterproof sleeping-sack across his -shoulders, and a strong infusion of Carlyle, Swinburne, and Nietzsche -in his head, the author of this wholly delightful book set out to -wander in the Caucasus. It was the spirit of Lavengro, however, that -supplied the real driving power, for in his veins, clearly, the sweet -passion of earth runs side by side with a strong savour of humanity. -Youth, spontaneity, and enthusiasm colour these striking Caucasian -pictures, for the vagabond was also a poet. You follow his adventures -with the same interest you follow an engrossing novel, because you see -the man and feel something of his passion.”</p> - -<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop divider2" /> - -<p class="center p120">LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="tn"> -<p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:</p> - -<p class="noi">Punctuation has been standardised.</p> - -<p class="noi">Spelling and variations have been intentionally retained as published -except as follows:</p> - -<ul> -<li>Page 10<br /> -hands of the vile Turkisk soldiery <i>changed to</i><br /> -hands of the vile <a href="#Turkish">Turkish</a> soldiery</li> - -<li>Page 36<br /> -mere rumour and heresay <i>changed to</i><br /> -mere rumour and <a href="#hearsay">hearsay</a></li> - -<li>Page 70<br /> -can’t be, bcause you <i>changed to</i><br /> -can’t be, <a href="#because">because</a> you</li> - -<li>Page 73<br /> -rythmically lapping the shore <i>changed to</i><br /> -<a href="#rhythmically">rhythmically</a> lapping the shore</li> - -<li>Page 74<br /> -tied pieces of garlick <i>changed to</i><br /> -tied pieces of <a href="#garlic">garlic</a></li> - -<li>Page 146<br /> -thy felt a really patriotic pride <i>changed to</i><br /> -<a href="#they">they</a> felt a really patriotic pride</li> - -<li>Page 203<br /> -this did not effect me at the time <i>changed to</i><br /> -this did not <a href="#affect">affect</a> me at the time</li> - -<li>Page 257<br /> -flat near Riverside Driver <i>changed to</i><br /> -flat near Riverside <a href="#Drive">Drive</a></li> - -<li>Page 262<br /> -to sooth the over-wrought nerves <i>changed to</i><br /> -to <a href="#soothe">soothe</a> the over-wrought nerves</li> -</ul> -</div></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHILD OF THE ORIENT ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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