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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67626 ***

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                [Illustration: FRANKLIN SQUARE LIBRARY.]

   NUMBER 12. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE 15 CTS.

                 Copyright, 1878, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

                         TWENTY YEARS’ RESIDENCE
                                  AMONG
                          THE PEOPLE OF TURKEY:
          BULGARIANS, GREEKS, ALBANIANS, TURKS, AND ARMENIANS.

                                   BY
                      A CONSUL’S DAUGHTER AND WIFE.
                      EDITED BY STANLEY LANE POOLE.

                      DEDICATED (BY PERMISSION) TO
                      THE MARCHIONESS OF SALISBURY,
                  BY HER GRATEFUL SERVANT, THE AUTHOR.




PREFACE.


No one who has talked with many people on the Eastern Question can have
failed to remark the wide difference of opinion held on things which
ought to be matters of certainty, and on which two opinions ought to be
impossible. This divergence of view is only a very natural consequence
of the want of any book of authority on the subject. How is one to
learn what manner of men these Bulgarians and Greeks of Turkey really
are? Hitherto our information has been chiefly obtained from newspaper
correspondents: and it is hardly necessary to observe that the nature
of their selected information depends upon the tendency of the paper.
There have, of course, been notable exceptions to this common rule of
a party-conscience: the world of journalists is but now lamenting the
untimely death of one of its most distinguished members, with whose name
honor and truth and indefatigable thoroughness must ever be associated.
But granting the honesty and impartiality of a correspondent, allowing
the accuracy of his report of what he has seen, it must be conceded that
his opportunities for observation are short and hurried, that he judges
almost solely from the immediate present, and that by the nature of
his profession he is seldom able to make a very long or intimate study
of a people’s character. One accepts his reports as the evidence of
an eye-witness; but one does not necessarily pledge one’s self to his
deductions. For the former task he has every necessary qualification: for
the latter he may have none, and he probably has not the most important.
Especially unsafe is it to trust to estimates of nations formed hastily
on insufficient experience in the midst of general disorder, such as that
in which many summary verdicts have lately been composed.

But if newspaper correspondents are placed at some disadvantage, what
can be said for those well-assured travellers who pay a three months’
visit to Turkey, spend the time pleasantly at Pera, or perhaps at the
country-houses of some Pashas, and then consider themselves qualified
to judge the merits of each class in each nationality of the mixed
inhabitants of the land. It is unpleasant to have to say it; but it is
well known that scarcely a single book upon Turkey is based upon a much
longer experience than of three months.

In this dearth of trustworthy information, it was with no little interest
that I learnt that an English lady, who had lived for a great part
or her life in various provinces of European and Asiatic Turkey, and
whose linguistic powers perfected by experience enabled her to converse
equally with Greeks, Turks, and Bulgarians as one of themselves, had
formed a collection of notes on the people of Turkey—on their national
characteristics, the way they live, their manners and customs, education,
religion, their aims, and ambitions. In any case the observations of one
who had for more than twenty years enjoyed such exceptional advantages
must be valuable. Of the opportunities of the Author there could be
as little doubt as of her conscientious accuracy in recording her
experience. The only question was not the quality but the quantity of
the information. But in this the manuscript surpassed all expectations.
Every page teemed with details of life and character entirely novel to
all but Eastern travellers. Every subject connected with the people of
Turkey seemed to be exhaustively treated, and it was rarely that any need
for more ample information was felt.

In editing what, as I have had nothing to do with the matter of it, I
may without vanity call the most valuable work on the people of Turkey
that has yet appeared, I have strictly kept in view the principle laid
down by the Author—that the book was to be a collection of facts, not a
vehicle for party views on the Eastern Question, nor a recipe for the
harmonious arrangement of South-eastern Europe. Politically the book is
entirely colorless. It was felt that thus only could it commend itself
to both, or rather all, the disputing parties on the question, and that
only by delicately avoiding the susceptible points of each party could
the book attain its end—of generally imparting a certain amount of sound
information on the worst-known subject of the day.

The reader, therefore, must not expect to find here a defence of Turkish
rule nor yet an attack thereon: he will only find an account of how the
Turks do rule, with a few incidental illustrations scattered throughout
the book. Comment is, as a rule, eschewed as superfluous and insulting
to the intelligence of the reader. Still less must he look for any
expression of opinion on the wisdom or folly of the policy of Her
Majesty’s Government. All these things are apart from the aim of the
work. It is wished to provide the data necessary to the formation of any
worthy views on the many subdivisions of the Eastern Question. It is not
wished to point the moral. Once conversant with the actual state of the
people of Turkey, once knowing how they live, what are their virtues and
vices, what their aims and ambitions, and it is easy for any rational
man to draw his conclusions; easy to criticise favorably or otherwise
according to the merits of the case the policy of the British Government
towards Turkey and towards Greece, to decide whether after all the
supposed rising in Bulgaria (about which little is said here, because
everything has already been well said) was ever a rising at all; whether
the Turks are or are not incapable of the amenities which many believe
them then to have indulged in; whether the Bulgarians are friendly to
Russia, or are really the very humble servants of the Porte; in short,
whether half the questions which have for two years been the subject of
perpetual contention admit of debate at all.

The book has been divided into four parts. In the first, the general
characteristics of the various races of Turkey are sketched. Very little
is said about their history, for it is not the history but the present
state—or rather the state just before the war—of the people that is the
subject of the book. But the Author has tried to bring home to the reader
the social condition and the national character of their different races.
The Bulgarians, Greeks, Albanians, Turks, Armenians, and Jews are in turn
described, and the, for the time, scarcely less important Circassians,
with the Tatars and Gypsies, have their chapter.

In the second part, the tenure of land in Turkey and the state of the
small peasant farmers are explained, and an account is given of houses
and hovels in Turkey, including that most superb of Turkish houses, the
Seraglio of the Sultan, to which with its inmates a very detailed notice
is devoted; and the part ends with an account of Municipality and Police
in Turkey, together with the kindred subject of Brigandage.

The third part is occupied with the manners and customs of the races.
Few things give such an insight into the character of a people as a
study of their customs, and it is believed that these chapters on the
extraordinary ceremonies employed in Turkey on the occasion of a birth
or marriage, or a death, the dress, food, amusements, of the Greeks,
Bulgarians, Turks, and Armenians will prove of as much value as interest.
The fact, for example, that in many parts of Bulgaria the weddings take
place not in the church but in the cellar of the bridegroom’s house
speaks volumes on the insecurity of a woman’s person while Turkish
governors rule in Bulgarian towns. The custom of the Bulgarian bridegroom
flinging a halter over his bride’s neck and dragging her into his
house is an interesting relic of capture, and the subsequent knocking
of the bride’s head against the wall as a warning against infidelity
illustrates the general chastity of the people. The indecent exhibitions,
again, at Turkish weddings help to explain the want of refinement and
womanly feeling among Turkish ladies. The ceremonies of the Greeks are
interesting from another point of view, inasmuch as very many of them are
identical with those of the ancient Greeks.

The last part is devoted to the education, superstition, and religion
of the people of Turkey. It is here that we get to the root of Turkish
manners; for we see how the Turk is brought up, how he learns the vices
that have become identified with the thought of his race, how he remains,
in spite even of a western education, deeply imbued with superstition,
and finally how he loses all the energy of the old Othmanli character by
the operation of the fatal doctrine of Kismet. The chapters on Education
are among the most valuable in the book; whilst those on Religion
will serve to explain some of the difficulties that beset the proper
adjustment of affairs in Southern Europe.

The study of the facts thus brought together points to a considerable
modification of the views commonly entertained with regard to the
characters of the peoples of Turkey. The Author’s long experience leaves
no doubt of the vast superiority of the Greeks to the other races; yet
there is no people that one is more accustomed to hear spoken of with
distrust and even contempt. The Greeks are commonly charged with a
partiality for sharp practice, with intolerable vanity; their character
is summed up as petty. There is always a grain of truth in a calumny:
when plenty of mud is thrown some of it sticks, not because of the
quantity of the mud, but because there is sure to be an adhesive sympathy
with some part of the object of the attack. The Greeks have in some
degree laid themselves open to these charges. It was very unwise of
them to take the first rank as merchants in the East, and thus arouse
the jealousy of the merchants of all European nations, whom they have
eclipsed by their superior business capacities. Envy will pick holes
anywhere, but it is especially easy to criticise the customs of a
merchant class. Mercantile morality all over the world is a thing of
itself, not generally understanded of the people. But there is nothing to
show that the Greek merchants are less scrupulous than the rest, though
their temptations are infinitely greater. If a little sharp business
is said to be permissible, and even perhaps necessary, at Liverpool,
for instance, it is _à fortiori_ essential in Turkey. It is a perfectly
well-understood principle that in Turkey, where everything is done by
bribery and corruption, a merchant, unless he wishes to be ruined,
must steer a somewhat oblique course. So long as the late Turkish rule
extended over Greek subjects, it was necessary to do in Turkey as the
Turks do. French and English merchants sin as much as the Greeks in this
manner; but the superior commercial ability of the Greeks and their
consequent success have drawn on them the whole evil repute. It is not
that the Greeks cheat more than other commercial nations: it is merely
that they make more money on the same amount of cheating. _Hinc illæ iræ!_

The Greeks, again, are certainly conceited, and with excellent reason.
It would be absurd to expect anything else. They are but newly freed;
after centuries of Ottoman tyranny, followed by a generation of Bavarian
despotism, they have at last been allowed to enjoy some fifteen years of
freedom. Even under the stiff court of George, but much more during the
last fifteen years, they have made prodigious progress. Having worked out
their own freedom, they have been making themselves fit for freedom. From
craven slaves of the Turk they have become a liberty-loving people. Their
thoughts have been casting back to the noble ancestry which they claim
as their own, and looking onward to the great future that is in store
for them. They have measured themselves intellectually with the rest of
Europe and have not been worsted. They have spent the last twenty years
in the work of self-education, and so successful have been their efforts
that it is well known that no nation can compare with Greece in the
general education of its people—that to Greece alone can be applied the
ambiguous taunt that she is over-educated.

All these things are legitimate subjects of pride. It is no wonder that
the Greeks are vain of their adopted ancestors; no marvel that they are
proud of their keen wits and facile intelligence. They have formed a
justly high estimate of their national worth, and are justly proud of the
progress they have already made, and they take no pains to conceal it.
Their faults are only exaggerations of national virtues, the outcome of
the reaction from a long servitude; they are the necessary but temporary
result of the circumstances. A little time for development, a closer
association with the other powers of Europe, and a worthier trust on the
part of these, and the Greeks will lose their blemishes of youth; conceit
will be toned down to a proper pride, and high intelligence will no
longer be called over-cleverness. The nation has marched steadily forward
in the little time it has been free; it has made great steps in educating
itself and in spreading knowledge among its members still subject to the
alien; it has shown itself able to govern itself, even to restrain itself
under terrible provocation when there was much to gain and little that
could be lost. If it is given fair play, the time may yet come when a
seventh Great power shall arise in Europe, when the Greeks shall again
rule in Byzantium, and Europe shall know that the name of Hellenes is
still a sacred name.

The Author’s account of the Bulgarians differs little from the ordinary
opinion, except on one important point. She describes them as honest
hard-working peasants, rather slow and stupid, but excellent laborers.
But she absolutely denies the ferocious character ascribed to them by
some writers. Every one knows that they exacted a terrible vengeance
from the Turks, and no man of spirit can blame them for it; though it is
much to be regretted that, if the accounts be true, they carried their
revenge to the length of Turkish barbarity. But this was an exceptional
time: it has had its parallel in most nations, as those who remember the
feeling in England at the time of the Indian mutiny can witness. As a
rule the Bulgarian is, on the contrary, rather too tame. He is a very
domestic animal, lives happily with his family, keeps generally sober,
enjoys his dance on the common on feast-days, and goes with perfect
willingness and satisfaction to his daily work in the fields or at the
rose-harvest. He is an admirable agricultural laborer, with a stolidity
more than Teutonic, without the Teuton’s energy. Yet these Bulgarians
seem to have a good deal of sound common sense, and show many of the
qualities necessary in a people that is to govern itself. It has hitherto
submitted with curious tranquillity to the Turkish yoke, and the Sultan
has probably had few less ill-affected servants than the Bulgarians. On
the other hand, it seems that the Bulgarians entertain a very decided
hostility to Russia, an enmity second only to their hatred for the Greeks.

The third important element in the future of South-East Europe is the
Turks. Of them it is not necessary to say much: most people are fairly
enlightened as to the manners and rule of the Turk, and the Author has
intentionally avoided crowding her pages with Turkish atrocities: they
are all very much alike, and they are not pleasant reading. The official
classes meet with scant respect at her hands; but with most writers she
speaks favorably of the Turkish peasant. The principal vice he has is
his religious fanaticism, which is the result partly of Mohammedanism
itself, and partly of the form and manner in which it is inculcated
in Turkey. Islam may be broad and tolerant enough; but not the rigid
orthodox Islam as taught in the primary schools of the Ottoman Empire.
Islam is an excellent creed by itself; but a ruling Mohammedan minority
in a Christian country is an endless source of trouble. But the religious
question is only one of those which have disturbed the position of the
Porte. The system of administration, as described in these pages, is
enough to overturn any power, and an official class brought up under
vicious home influences, educated in fanatical mosque-schools, living
the self-indulgent indolent life of Stamboul, getting and keeping office
by bribery, administering “justice” to the highest bidder, is a doomed
class. When one sees how a Turkish child is brought up he begins to
wonder how any Turk can help being vicious and dishonest. It is quite
certain that there is no hope for the Turks so long as Turkish women
remain what they are, and home-training is the initiation of vice. So
far as can be judged, the Turk naturally possessed some of the true
elements of greatness; but it is rarely they come to bear fruit: they are
choked by the pernicious social system which destroys the moral force
of the women and thereafter the men of the empire. It is this carefully
inculcated deficiency in all sense of uprightness and justice, and this
trained tendency to everything that is a crime against the community,
that renders the Pasha incapable of governing. It is this fact which
compels one to admit that, whatever the decisions of the Berlin Congress,
it is a clear gain that the war has won for Europe, to be able to speak
of Turkish rule in the past tense.

With full knowledge of the experience and research of the Author, I must
yet say there are some points—notably the Greek Church of Russia—in
which I cannot bring myself to agree with her; and I must also add that,
owing to the haste with which the book was put through the press, I have
allowed a few misprints to escape me.

                                                      STANLEY LANE POOLE.

_June 20th, 1878._




CHAPTER I.

THE BULGARIANS.

    Sketch of Bulgarian History—The Slav Occupation—Bulgar
    Conquest—Mixture of the Races—The Bulgarian Kingdom—Contests
    with Constantinople—Basil Bulgaroktonos—Bulgaria under
    Ottoman Rule—Compulsory Conversion—The Pomaks—Oppressive
    Government—Janissary Conscription—Extortion of Officials—Misery
    of the People—Improvement under Abdul-Medjid—Fidelity of
    the Bulgarians to the Porte—The late Revolt no National
    Movement—The Geographical Limits of Bulgaria—Mixture with
    Greeks—Life in the House of a Bulgarian Country Gentleman—Daily
    Levées of Elders and Peasants—Counsel of the Chorbadji and
    Stupidity of the Clients—Instances of Bulgarian Grievances—St.
    Panteleemon—A Spiritual Elopement—Dentist’s Fees—Woman’s
    Work in Bulgaria—Sobriety—Town Life—A Bulgarian Ball—A
    Night in a Bulgarian Hamlet, and the Comfort thereof—Unity
    of the Nation—Distrust of Foreigners—Demoralization of the
    Bulgarians—The Hope for the Future.


The Bulgarians, who were completely crushed by the Ottoman Conquest,
and whose very existence for centuries was almost forgotten, have been
suddenly brought before the world by the late unhappy events in their
country.

Much has been written by English and foreign authors respecting them, but
few of the writings on the subject appear to agree with regard to the
origin, the history, or the present social and moral condition of this
much injured but deserving people. I have no pretensions to throw a fresh
light on the first two points. The few remarks I shall make are based
upon such authors as are considered most trustworthy, and especially on
the recent researches of Professor Hyrtl, reserving to myself the task of
describing the moral and social condition of the modern Bulgarians, as
fourteen years spent among them enables me to do.

From the Bulgarian Professor Drinov, who appears to have made the Balkan
peninsula his especial study, we learn that before the arrival of the
Bulgarian tribes into European Turkey, the southern side of the Danube
had been invaded by the Slavs, who during four centuries poured into the
country and, steadily spreading, drove out the previous inhabitants, who
directed their steps towards the sea-coasts and settled in the towns
there. In the beginning of the sixth century the Slavonic element had
become so powerful in its newly-acquired dominions, and its depredatory
incursions into the Byzantine Empire so extensive, that the Emperor
Anastasius found himself forced to build a wall from Selymbria on the Sea
of Marmora to Derkon on the Black Sea in order to repel their attacks.
Procopius, commenting on this, relates that while Justinian was winning
useless victories over the Persians, part of his empire lay exposed to
the ravages of the Slavs, and that not less than 200,000 Byzantines were
annually killed or carried away into slavery.

The hostile spirit, however, between these two nations was broken by
short intervals of peace and friendly relations, during which the
Slav race supplied some emperors and many distinguished men to the
Byzantines. Many Slavs resorted to Constantinople in order to receive
the education and training their newly-founded kingdom did not afford
them. The migration of the Slavs into Thrace ceased towards the middle
of the seventh century, when they settled down to a more sedentary life,
and, under the civilizing influence of their Byzantine neighbors, betook
themselves to agricultural and pastoral pursuits. According to historical
accounts the Slavs did not long enjoy their acquisitions in peace, for
about the year 679 A.D. a horde of Hunnish warriors, calling themselves
Bulgars (a name derived from their former home on the Volga), crossed
the Danube under the leadership of their Khan, Asparuch, and after some
desperate fighting with the Slavs, finally settled on the land now known
as Bulgaria and founded a kingdom which in its turn lasted about seven
hundred years.

From the little that is known of the original Bulgarians, we learn that
polygamy was practised among them, that the men shaved their heads and
wore a kind of turban, and the women veiled their faces. These points of
similarity connect the primitive Bulgarians with the Avars, with whom
they came into close contact, as well as with the Tatars, during their
long sojourn between the Volga and Tanais, as witness the marked Tatar
features some of the Bulgarians bear to the present day. The primitive
Bulgarians are said to have subsisted chiefly on the flesh of animals
killed in the chase; and it is further related of them that they burnt
their dead, and when a chieftain died his wives and servants were also
burnt and their ashes buried with those of their master. Schafarik, whose
learned and trustworthy researches on the origin of the Bulgarians can
scarcely be called in question, remarks that the warlike hordes from the
Volga regions, though not numerous, were very brave and well skilled in
war. They attacked with great ferocity the patient plodding Slavs, who
were engaged in cultivating the land and rearing cattle, quickly obtained
the governing power, and after tasting the comforts of a settled life,
gradually adopted to a great extent the manners, customs, and even the
language of the people they had conquered. This amalgamation appears to
have been a slow process, occupying, according to historical evidence,
full two hundred and fifty years. It is during this period that the
Bulgarian language must have gradually been effaced, and the vanquishing
race, like the Normans in England, absorbed by the vanquished.

This fresh mixture with the Slav element constituted the Bulgarians a
separate race, with no original title to belong to the Slavonic family
beyond that derived from the fusion of blood that followed the long
intercourse of centuries, by which the primitive Bulgarians became
blended with the former inhabitants of the country. It is evident that
they were superior to the Slavs in military science and power, but
inferior as regards civilization, and thus naturally yielded to the
influence of the more advanced and better organized people. By this
influence they created a distinct nation, gave their name to the country,
and consolidated their power by laws and institutions.

The Bulgarian kingdom, from its very foundation in 679 until its final
overthrow by the Turks in 1396, presents a wearisome tale of battles
with short intervals of peace, in the struggle for supremacy between the
Emperors of Byzantium and the rulers of Bulgaria. The balance of power
alternately inclined from one party to the other; the wars were inhuman
on both sides; on the one hand, we read of hundreds of thousands of
Byzantines yearly sacrificed by the Slavs; on the other, we have equally
horrible spectacles presented to us, like that enacted during the reign
of Basil, surnamed Βουλγαροκτόνος (The Bulgarian-killer), on account of
the great number of Bulgarians killed by his order. This savage, having
on one occasion captured a large number of Bulgarians, separated 15,000
into companies of 100 each, and ordered ninety-nine out of each of these
companies to be blinded, allowing the remaining hundredth to retain his
sight in order to become the leader of his blind brethren.

In the midst of such scenes, and at the cost of torrents of blood,
successive kingdoms were constituted in this unhappy land of perpetual
warfare. Raised into momentary eminence by the force of arms, they were
again hurled to the ground by the same merciless instrument. Supreme
power has been alternately wielded by the savage, the Moslem, and
the Christian; each of whom to the present day continues the work of
destruction.

The condition of Bulgarians did not improve under the Ottoman rule. Their
empire soon disappeared, leaving to posterity nothing but a few ruined
castles and fortresses, and some annals and popular songs illustrating
its past glory. The Turkish conquest was more deeply felt by the
Bulgarians than by their brethren in adversity, the Byzantines and the
neighboring Slav nations. These, owing to the more favorable geographical
position of their countries and other advantages, were able to save some
privileges out of the general wreck, and to retain a shadow of their
national rights. The Byzantines were protected by a certain amount of
influence left in the hands of the clergy, while the Slav nations were
enabled to make certain conditions with their conqueror before their
complete surrender, and were successful in enlisting the sympathies
and protection of friendly powers in their behalf, and in obtaining
through their instrumentality at intervals reforms never vouchsafed to
the Bulgarians. This nation, isolated, ignored, and shut out from the
civilized world, crouched under the despotic rule of the Ottomans, and
submitted to a life of perpetual toil and hardship, uncheered by any
of the pleasures of life, unsupported by the least gleam of hope for a
better future.

This sad condition has lasted for centuries; and by force of misery the
people became grouped into two classes: the poor, who were constant to
their faith and national feeling, and the wealthy and prosperous, who
adopted Islam in order to escape persecution and save their property. To
this latter class may be added the Pomaks, a predatory tribe inhabiting
a mountainous district between the provinces of Philippopolis and
Serres. They live apart, and pass for Mussulmans because they have some
mosques; but they have no knowledge of the Koran nor follow its laws very
closely. Most of them to this day bear Christian names and speak the Slav
language. The men are a fine race, but utterly ignorant and barbarous.

Upon the poor and therefore Christian class fell all the weight of
the Ottoman yoke, which made itself felt in their moral and material
condition, and reached even to the dress, which was enforced as a mark of
servility. They were forbidden to build churches, and beyond the ordinary
annual poll-tax imposed by Moslems on infidel subjects, they had to
submit to the many illegal extortions of rapacious governors and cruel
landlords; besides the terrible blood-tax collected every five years to
recruit the ranks of the Janissaries from the finest children of the
province. Nor were the Bulgarian maidens spared: if a girl struck the
fancy of a Mohammedan neighbor or a government official, he always found
means to possess himself of her person without using much ceremony or
fearing much commotion.

The depressing and demoralizing effect of such a system upon the
Bulgarians may be imagined; it was sufficient to brutalize a people far
more advanced than they were at the time of the conquest. It cowed them,
destroyed their brave and venturous spirit, taught them to cringe, and
weakened their ideas of right and wrong. It is not strange that a people
thus demoralized should, under the pressure of recent troubles, be said
in some instances to have acted treacherously both towards their late
rulers and present protectors; but the vices of rapacity, treachery,
cruelty, and dishonesty could not have been the natural characteristics
of this unhappy people until misery taught them the lesson.

The laws promulgated in the reign of Sultan Abdul-Medjid with respect to
the amelioration of the condition of the rayahs were gradually introduced
into Bulgaria, and their beneficial influence tended greatly to remove
some of the most crying wrongs that had so long oppressed the people.
These reforms apparently satisfied the Bulgarians—always easily contented
and peacefully disposed. They were thankful for the slight protection
thus thrown over their life and property. They welcomed the reforms with
gratitude as the signs of better days, and, stimulated by written laws,
as well as by the better system of government that had succeeded the old
one and had deprived their Mohammedan neighbors of some of their power of
molesting and injuring them, they redoubled their activity and endeavored
by industry to improve their condition. Such changes can be only gradual
among an oppressed people in the absence of good government and easy
communication with the outer world.

The Bulgarians, inwardly, perhaps, still dissatisfied, seemed outwardly
content and attached to the Porte in the midst of the revolutionary
movements that alternately convulsed the Servian, Greek, and Albanian
populations. A very small section alone yielded to the influence of the
foreign agents or _comitats_, who were using every means to create a
general rising in Bulgaria, or was at any time in the Bulgarian troubles
enticed to raise its voice against the Ottoman Government and throw off
its allegiance. The late movement is said to have received encouragement
from the Bulgarian clergy acting under Russian influence, and from the
young schoolmasters, whose more advanced ideas naturally led them to
instil notions of independence among the people. But these views were
by no means entertained by the more thoughtful and important members
of the community, and no organized disaffection existed in Bulgaria at
the time the so-called revolt began. The action of a few hot-headed
patriots, followed by some discontented peasants, started the revolt
which, if it had been judiciously dealt with, might have been suppressed
without one drop of blood. The Bulgarians would probably have continued
plodding on as faithful subjects of the Porte, instead of being made—as
will apparently be the case—a portion of the Slav group. Whether this
fresh arrangement will succeed remains to be seen; but according to my
experience of Bulgarian character, there is very little sympathy between
it and the Slav. The Bulgarians have ever kept aloof from their Slavonic
neighbors, and will continue a separate people even when possessed of
independence.

The limits of Bulgaria, which must be drawn from an ethnological
standpoint, are not very easily determined. The right of conquest and
long possession no doubt entitles the Bulgarians to call their own the
country extending from the Danube to the Balkans. South of that range
and of Mount Scardos, however, _i.e._, in the northern part of Thrace
and Macedonia, their settlement was never permanent, and their capital,
originally established in Lychnidos (the modern Ochrida), had to be
removed north of the Balkans to Tirnova. The colonies they established
were never very important, since they were scattered in the open country
as better adapted to the agricultural and pastoral pursuits of the
nation. These settlements, forming into large and small villages, took
Bulgarian names, but the names of the towns remained Greek.

The Bulgarians south of the Balkans are a mixed race, neither purely
Greek nor purely Bulgarian; but their manners and customs and physical
features identify them more closely with the Greeks than with the
Bulgarians north of the Balkans. There the Finnish type is clearly marked
by the projecting cheek-bones, the short upturned nose, the small eyes,
and thickly-set but rather small build of the people.

In Thrace and Macedonia, where Hellenic blood and features predominate,
and Hellenic influence is more strongly felt, the people call themselves
Thracians and Macedonians, rather than Bulgarians; the Greek language,
in schools, churches, and in correspondence, is used by the majority in
preference to the Bulgarian, and even in the late church question in many
places the people showed themselves lukewarm about the separation, and
the bulk remained faithful to the Church of Constantinople.

The sandjak of Philippopolis, esteemed almost entirely Bulgarian by some
writers, is claimed for the Greeks by others upon the argument that
Stanimacho, with its fifteen villages, is Greek with regard to language
and predilection, and Didymotichon, with its forty-five villages, is a
mixture of Greeks and Bulgarians. As a matter of fact, however, in this
sandjak, in consequence of its proximity to Bulgaria proper, and to its
developed and prosperous condition, the Bulgarian element has taken the
lead.

The revival of the church question and the educational movement have
stayed and almost nullified Greek influence, which is limited to
certain localities like Stanimacho and other places, where the people
hold as staunchly to their Greek nationality as the Bulgarians of
other localities do to their own. While dispute waxed hot in the town
of Philippopolis between the parties of Greeks and Bulgarians, each
in defence of its rights, no spirit of the kind was ever evinced in
Adrianople, where the population is principally Greek and Turkish, with
a small number of Armenians and Bulgarians. In Macedonia the sandjak of
Salonika, comprising Cassandra, Verria, and Serres, numbering in all
about 250.000 souls, is, with few exceptions, Greek, or so far Hellenized
as to be so to all intents and purposes. The inhabitants of Vodena and
Janitza, and the majority in Doïran and Stromnitza, and a considerable
portion of the population of Avrat Hissar, on the right bank of the
Vardar, claim Greek nationality. The Greeks in this part of the country
have worked with the same tenacity of purpose and consequent success in
Hellenizing the people, as the Bulgarians of the kaza of Philippopolis in
promoting the feeling of Bulgarian nationality there. This mission of the
Greeks here has not been a very difficult one, as the national feeling of
the bulk of the population is naturally Greek.

Notwithstanding the marked tendency of the people towards Hellenism, the
language in Vodena and other places is Bulgarian; but the features of the
people, together with their ideas, manners, and customs, are essentially
Greek; even the dress of the Bulgarian-speaking peasant is marked by the
absence of the typical _potour_ and the _gougla_ or cap worn in Bulgaria.

Most of the authors who have written on the populations of these regions
have, either through Panslavistic views or misled by the prevalence of
the Bulgarian language in the rural districts, put down the whole of the
population as Bulgarian, a mistake easily corrected by a summary of the
number of Greeks and Bulgarians conjointly occupying those districts,
separating the purely Greek from the purely Bulgarian element, and taking
into consideration at the same time the number of mixed Greeks and
Bulgarians.

If the wide geographical limits projected by Russia for Bulgaria be
carried out, there will be a recurrence of all the horrors of the recent
war in a strife between the Greeks and Bulgarians, in consequence of the
encroachment of the future Bulgaria upon territory justly laid claim to
by the Greeks as ethnologically their own and as a heritage from past
ages. The question would be greatly simplified and the danger of future
contests between the two peoples much lessened, if not entirely removed,
by the Bulgarian autonomy being limited to the country north of the
Balkans.

The Greek Government might not be equal at first to the administration
of their newly-acquired kingdom, but if united in close alliance with
some friendly power and placed under its tutelage, an honest and stable
empire might be established with every probability of soon rising into
a flourishing condition in the hands of a people whose intelligence,
activity, and enterprising spirit give them an incontestable superiority
over the other races of Turkey.

The Bulgarians south of the Balkans being, as before said, of a mixed
race engrafted upon the Hellenic stock, would not be found to offer any
serious opposition. They are closely incorporated with the Greek element
in some districts; while in others, where Bulgarian feeling predominates,
the people would willingly migrate to Bulgaria proper, as the Hellenized
Bulgarians under such an arrangement would draw nearer to Greece; whilst
in parts of Macedonia, where Hellenism has the ascendancy, very little
difficulty would be met with from the Bulgarian settlements.

My recollections of Bulgarian social life are to a great extent derived
from a three months’ stay I made under the hospitable roof of a Bulgarian
gentleman, or _Chorbadji_, as he was called by his own people. He was the
most wealthy and influential person in the town of T⸺, where his position
as member of the _Medjeiss_ constituted him the chief guardian and
advocate of the Bulgarian people of the district. I mention this in order
to show the reader that in his house the opportunity of making important
observations and of witnessing national characteristics were not wanting.
These observations embraced the social features I was allowed to study in
the midst of the home and family life both of the educated and thinking
Bulgarians and of the peasants who daily flocked to the house of my
friend from the towns and villages to submit to him their wrongs and
grievances, and, as their national representative, to ask his advice and
assistance before proceeding to the local courts.

These levées began sometimes as early as six o’clock in the morning,
and lasted until eleven. The _Kodja-bashi_, or headmen, would come in
a body to consult about the affairs of the community, or to represent
some grave case pending before the local court of their respective
towns; or groups of peasants of both sexes, sometimes representing the
population of a whole village, would arrive, at the request of the
authorities, to answer some demand made by them, or plead against an act
of gross injury or injustice. Whatever the cause that brought them daily
under my notice, the picture they presented was extremely curious and
interesting, and the pleasure was completed by the privilege I enjoyed
of afterwards obtaining a detailed account of the causes and grievances
that brought them there. When the interested visitors happened to be
elders of their little communities or towns, they were shown into the
study of my host. After exchanging salutes and shaking hands, they were
offered _slatko_ (preserves) and coffee, and business was at once
entered into. At such moments the Bulgarian does not display the heat and
excitement that characterizes the Greek, nor fall into the uproarious
argument of the Armenians and Jews, nor yet display the finessing wit of
the Turk; but steering a middle course between these different modes of
action, he stands his ground and perseveres in his argument, until he
has either made his case clear or is persuaded to take another view of
it. The subjects that most animated the Bulgarians in these assemblies
were their national affairs and their dissensions with the Greeks; the
secondary ones were the wrongs and grievances they suffered from a bad
administration; and although they justly lamented these, and at times
bitterly complained of the neglect or incapacity of the Porte to right
them in an effective manner and put a stop to acts of injustice committed
by their Mohammedan neighbors and the local courts, I at no time noticed
any tendency to disloyalty or revolutionary notions, or any disposition
to court Russian protection, from which, indeed, the most enlightened and
important portion of the nation at that period made decided efforts to
keep aloof.

When it was the peasants who gathered at the Chorbadji’s house, their
band was led by its Kodja-Bashi, who, acting as spokesman, first entered
the big gate, followed by a long train of his brethren. Ranged in a line
near the porch, they awaited the coming of the master to explain to him
the cause of their visit. Their distinguished-looking patron, pipe in
hand, shortly made his appearance at the door, when caps were immediately
doffed, and the right hands were laid on the breast and hidden by the
shaggy heads bending over them in a salaam, answered by a kindly “Dobro
deni” (good morning), followed by the demand “Shto sakaty?” (what do
you want?) The peasants, with an embarrassed air, looked at each other,
while the Kodja-Bashi proceeded to explain matters. Should his eloquence
fall short of the task, one or two others would step out of the ranks
and become spokesmen. It was almost painful to see these simple people
endeavoring to give a clear and comprehensive account of their case,
and trying to understand the advice and directions of the Chorbadji. A
half-frightened, surprised look, importing fear or doubt, a shrug of
the shoulders, accompanied by the words “Né znam—Né mozhem” (I do not
know, I cannot do), was generally the first expression in answer to the
eloquence of my friend, who in his repeated efforts to explain matters
frequently lost all patience, and would end by exclaiming, “Né biddy
magari!” (Don’t be donkeys!)—a remark which had no effect upon the band
of rustics further than to send them off, full of gratitude, to do as he
had counselled.

Perhaps the reader may be curious to know the details of some of the
cases daily brought under my notice. I will mention a few not connected
with Turkish oppression and maladministration; for by this time the
English public has been pretty well enlightened on that subject. My list
will include some rather more original incidents which took place in the
community: disputes between all non-Mussulmans are generally settled by
the temporal or spiritual chiefs, and seldom brought before the Courts of
Justice.

While Greeks and Bulgarians in the heat of controversy were snatching
churches and monasteries from each other, the priests and monks who
were attached to these sacred foundations found themselves unpleasantly
jostled between the two hostile elements. To be a Greek priest or monk
and be forced to acknowledge the supremacy of an anathematized and
illegal church was a profanation not to be endured; and, on the other
hand, to be a Bulgarian and be forced to pray day by day for a detested
spiritual head rejected by his nation was an insupportable anomaly.
In the midst of the difficulty and confusion at first caused by this
state of affairs, some of the good fathers and monks had to remove their
quarters and betake themselves to a wandering life, visiting their
respective communities and encouraging the people by their exhortations
to hold fast to their church and oppose with all their might the
claims and usurping tendencies of the others. Among these a Bulgarian
monk, more venturous and evidently endowed with a greater amount of
imaginative eloquence than the rest, and rejoicing in the title of Spheti
Panteleemon, regarded himself as the prophet of the Bulgarian people.
This Saint Panteleemon was a man of middle age and middle height, with a
jovial face, a cunning look, and an intelligent but restless eye, by no
means indicative of an ascetic view of life.

Contrary to the saying that no man is a prophet in his own country,
Spheti Panteleemon was acknowledged as such by a considerable class of
his people, consisting entirely of the gentle sex, and his success among
them was as great as ritualism appears to be in England.

The preaching of this prophet, intended solely for the Bulgarian women,
became so pronounced in its tenets, so eloquent in its delivery, and
was rendered so impressive by the different means he employed to instil
his precepts into the hearts and minds of his hearers, that their
number soon increased into a vast congregation, which flocked from all
parts of the country to hear the words of their favorite saint. On such
occasions, this false prophet, who had managed to usurp possession of
a small monastery, would stand forth amid thousands of women, who at
his approach would cross themselves and fall down almost to worship
him. Spheti Panteleemon, in acknowledgment of this mark of devotion,
would raise his voice and rehearse his doctrines to the devotees. These
doctrines included strange principles, asserted by their author to be
the best and surest way to Paradise; but they scarcely conduced to
the satisfaction of the husbands. Women, according to this man, were
to be free and independent, and their principal affections were to be
bestowed upon their spiritual guide; their earnestness was to be proved
by depositing their earthly wealth (consisting chiefly of their silver
ornaments) at his feet. The practical Bulgarian husbands, however, were
by no means admirers of this new spiritual director, whose sole object
appeared to be to rob them of the affections of their wives along with
their wealth, and they soon raised their voices against his proceedings.
After holding counsel on the subject, they decided to give notice of his
doings to the local authorities, and by their influence to have him sent
out of the country. The prophet was arrested one fine morning, while
addressing a congregation of 500 women, by a body of police, and brought
to the prison of the town of S⸺, whilst all the women devoutly followed,
weeping, beating their breasts, and clamoring for the release of their
saint. The husbands, on the other hand, pleaded their grievances against
this disorganizer of society, and proved his dishonesty by displaying
to the authorities a quantity of silver trinkets of all descriptions
taken from his dwelling, to the great indignation of his devotees. The
imagination of some of these ignorant and superstitious peasant women had
been so worked upon that they solemnly declared to me that the feet of
their prophet never touched the ground, but remained always a distance
of two feet above it, and that his sole sustenance was grass. While his
fate was still undecided, amidst the wailings of the women, the protests
of the husbands, and the embarrassment of the authorities, the fellow got
out of the difficulty by declaring himself a “Uniate” and a member of the
Church of Rome. This avowal could not fail to excite the interest of the
agents of that body: they claimed the stray sheep as redeemed, took him
under their immediate protection, but (it is to be hoped) deprived him
of his pretended attribute of sanctity and the power of making himself
any longer a central object of attraction to the _beau sexe_.

Another incident was of a nature less sensational but equally repulsive
to the feelings and notions of the strict portion of the Bulgarian
nation, and had also a monk for its hero. It consisted of an elopement,
and if there is one crime that shocks and horrifies orthodox people more
than another, it is that of a monk who, taking the vows of celibacy,
perjures himself by adopting the respectable life of a married man. Such
events are of very rare occurrence, and when they take place cause a
great commotion.

This monk, at the time of the disputed church rights, lost his solitary
retreat, and was once more thrown in contact with the world he had
forsworn. Sent adrift, he set out in search of an unknown destiny,
without hope or friends, uncertain where his next meal was to come
from. After a long day’s march, he lay down to rest under a tree in a
cultivated field, and, overcome by fatigue, fell asleep. He was about
twenty-five years of age, tall, with regular features, a startlingly
pale complexion, and coal black eyes, hair, and beard; his whole
appearance, indeed, rather handsome than otherwise. Such, at least, was
the description given of him by the rustic beauty who surprised him while
driving her father’s cattle home.

A Bulgarian monk in those stirring times was always an object of
interest, even to a less imaginative person than a young maiden. She,
therefore, considered it her duty to watch over his slumbers, and refresh
him with bread and salt on awaking. Quietly seating herself by his side,
she awaited the arousal of the unconscious sleeper. When he awoke, his
eyes met those of the girl, and in that exchange of looks a new light
dawned upon these two beings, who, though they had never met before, were
now to become dearer to each other than life itself. The monk forgot
his vows and poured forth his tale of love to a willing listener, who
immediately vowed to follow his fortunes and become his wife, or end
her days in a convent. This illustrates the definition of love once
given to me by a Bulgarian gentleman: “Chez nous l’amour n’a point de
préliminaires; on va droit au fait.” The adventurous couple forthwith
eloped, and wandered about the country, until the monk was discovered,
in spite of his disguise, by the scandalized Bulgarians, by whom he
was once more sent to a monastery, imprisoned in a dungeon, condemned
to live upon dry bread and to undergo daily corporal chastisement for
his sins. But the adventurous maiden, determined to effect his release,
contrived to make friends with the Kir Agassi, or head of the mounted
police in the district where the monastery was situated, and through
his instrumentality the monk was again set at liberty. The subject
was discussed in all its bearings at the house of my friends, until
the couple wisely adopted Protestantism, and after being married by a
minister of that church settled down to a peaceful life of domestic bliss.

A third incident illustrates the Bulgarian appreciation of surgical
art. The name of surgeon was unknown in the country villages, and that
of dentist, even in a large town like S⸺, until an adventurous spirit
belonging to the latter profession, in the course of a speculative tour,
established himself there. The inhabitants, on passing his house, used to
stop and gaze in wonder at the sets of teeth displayed under glass cases.
Conjecture ran wild as to how these were made and could be used. Some
imagined them to be abstracted front the jaws of dead persons, salted,
and prepared in some mysterious way for refitting in the mouths of the
living.

The fame of the dentist’s art began to be noised abroad throughout the
district, and many became desirous, if not of procuring new teeth, at
least of having some troublesome old stumps extracted. Among these was a
well-to-do Bulgarian peasant, who presented himself in the surgery for
this purpose. The dentist relieved him of his tooth with great facility,
to the man’s exceeding astonishment. On leaving he took out his long
knitted money-bag, carefully counted out five piastres (10_d._), and
handed them to the dentist, who returned them, saying that his fee would
be half a lira. “What!” exclaimed the indignant Bulgarian; “do you mean
to say that you will charge me so much, when last week I underwent the
same operation at the hands of my barber, and after a struggle of two
hours over an obstinate tooth, during which I had several times to lie
flat on my back and he and I were both bathed in perspiration until
it finally yielded, I paid him five piastres, with which he was quite
contented; and you, who were only a few minutes over it, demand ten times
that sum! It is simply monstrous, and I shall forthwith lodge a complaint
against you!”

As good as his word, in a fever of excitement he arrived at the
Chorbadji’s house to denounce the extortionate Frank. When quietly
asked if it were not worth while to pay a larger sum and get rid of his
tooth without loss of time and trouble, instead of spending two hours
of suffering and violent exertion for which he was charged only five
piastres, he admitted that such was the case, and that the Frank was a
far cleverer man than the barber could ever hope to be.

Social life among the Bulgarians differs little from that of the Greeks,
save in the greater ascendancy the Bulgarian wives of the working classes
have over their husbands. This advantage is probably derived from the
masculine manner in which they share in the hardy toil, working by the
side of their husbands, and by their personal exertions gaining almost
as much as the men do. The care of clothing the family also devolves
entirely upon them, besides which they have to attend to their domestic
duties, which are always performed with care, cleanliness, and activity.
Simple as these tasks may be, they require time, which the housewife
always manages to find. The well-beaten earthen floor is always neatly
swept, the rugs and bedding carefully brushed and folded up, and the
copper cooking utensils well scoured and ranged in their places. The
cookery is simple but very palatable, especially the pastry, which is
excellent; whilst the treacle and other provisions stored away for the
winter are wholesome and good.

Some uninformed authors have, I believe, stated that not only are the
Bulgarian men seldom to be seen in a state of sobriety, but that the
women also indulge to a great extent in the vice of drunkenness. So far
as I am able to judge, this statement is utterly groundless; for no woman
in the east, whatever her nationality, disgraces herself by drinking to
excess in the shops where spirituous drinks are sold, or is ever seen
in the streets in a state of intoxication. The man certainly likes his
glass, and on occasions freely indulges in it; but excesses are committed
only on feast-days, when the whole village is given up to joviality and
merriment.

The townspeople seldom indulge in these festivities; but tied down to a
sedentary life, cheered by no view of the open country, nor by fresh air
and the rural pursuits congenial to their nature, they lead a monotonous
existence, divided between their homes and their calling. The women on
their side fare no better, and with the exception of paying and receiving
calls on feast-days, or taking a promenade, keep much within doors,
occupying themselves with needlework and taking an active part in their
domestic affairs. This quiet uniform life is occasionally brightened by
an evening party, or even a ball, if the deficiency in the arrangement
of the rooms, the refreshments, and especially the _sans gêne_ observed
with regard to dress, permit of the name. One of these festive scenes was
illuminated by large home-made tallow candles, supported by candelabra
of Viennese manufacture, further supplemented by another innovation in
the shape of a pair of elegant snuffers, which fortunately obviated the
usual performance with the fingers, by which the ball-rooms are usually
perfumed with the odor of burnt mutton chops. Setting aside minor
details, my attention was much attracted by the queer versatility of the
band, which suddenly changed from the national _hora_ to an old-fashioned
polka which had just been introduced as a great novelty, but was indulged
in only by married couples, or timid brothers and sisters, who held each
other at so respectful a distance that another couple might easily have
passed between them. But the greatest charm of the gathering was the
_coup d’œil_ that embraced dress, deportment, and decorations. The dress
was as varied in shape and material as the forms of the wearers. Double
and triple fur coats, according to age and taste, safely sheltered the
majority of the gentlemen from cold and draughts; well-fitting frock
coats distinguished the few _comme il faut_ officials; while dress coats
of Parisian cut distinguished the quiet and apparently gentlemanlike
youths brought up in Europe, and contrasted with the less elegant
toilettes of their untravelled brethren dressed _à la Bulgare_.

The variety in the dress of the ladies was equally diverting. Some wore
their fur jackets over rich silk dresses, others, more fashionable,
dispensed with the weight of this unnecessary article; while the heads
of all of them sparkled with jewelry. Crinoline, often heard of under
the name of “Malakoff,” but unseen in the town before 1855, was supposed
to be introduced into the room by a German Jewish lady, an old resident
in the town, and was so proudly displayed by her in all its proportions,
that it attracted the attention of a homely old Bulgarian _gospoyer_,
who, in a simple manner, quietly turned up the hem of her dress and
displayed to a small section of the astonished assembly an ingenious
substitute for the crinoline made of _The Times_ newspaper!

The chapter on Peasant-holdings treats at some length of the Bulgarian
peasant, of his capacity for work, and the amount of ease and prosperity
he is able to attain in spite of the many drawbacks that surround him.
His prosperity is due to two sources—the modesty of his wants, and the
activity of his whole family. The fruits of such a system are naturally
good when the soil, climate, and other natural advantages favor it.

But some parts of Bulgaria are far from being the Utopia some newspaper
correspondents have represented it, with vines hanging over every
cottage-door, and milk and honey flowing in the land. Nothing but long
residence and personal experience can enable one to arrive at a true
estimate of such matters.

Though in some parts I found the scenery delightful, the prosperity of
the inhabitants astonishing, and Moslems and Christians rivalling each
other in hospitable kindness to the traveller, some spots were anything
but romantic or prosperous, and far from happy-looking. Some villages,
in particular, I noticed in the midst of a dreary plain, such as the
traveller may see on the road from Rodosto to Adrianople, where the
soil looks dry and barren, and the pastures grow yellow and parched
before their time, and where flying bands of Circassian thieves and
cut-throats hover about like birds of prey. I was once travelling through
the country, riding the whole of one day on such bad roads that the
mud often reached up to my horse’s knees, and the carriage containing
my maid and the provisions often came to a dead stop, while the rain
poured incessantly. The journey appeared interminable, and as darkness
crept on and several miles of road still separated us from our projected
halting-place, I made up my mind to stop at an isolated village for the
night. So traversing fresh pools of mud we entered the hamlet, and were
met by the Kodja-Bashi, a poorly-clad, miserable-looking individual,
who led our party into his farm-yard. On alighting from my horse I was
ushered into a dark, bare, dismal hovel, without windows, and lighted
only by a hole in the roof, through which escaped some of the smoke from
a few dung-cakes smouldering in a corner. One or two water-jars stood
near the door, and an earthen pot, serving for all culinary purposes, was
placed by the fire, in front of which was spread a tattered mat occupied
by a few three-legged stools. A bundle of uninviting rags and cushions,
the family bedding, was stowed in a corner, and in another were seen a
few pots and pans, the whole “table service” of the occupants.

This hovel was attached to a similar one opening into it, where I heard
some bustle going on. I was told that a member of the family who occupied
it and was seriously ill was being removed to a neighbor’s house.
Much annoyed at having caused so much trouble and disturbance to the
unfortunate sufferer, I asked my host why he had not placed me in another
cottage. “Well, _gospoyer_,” answered he, with an apologetic gesture,
“poor and wretched as my home is, it is the best the village possesses.
The rest are not fit to kennel your dogs in. As for my daughter, I
could not but remove her, as her cries during the night would prevent
your sleeping.” I inquired her complaint, and was told that she was in
high fever, and suffered from sharp pains all over her body. There was
no doctor to attend her, nor had she any medicine but the decoctions
prepared for her by the old _bulkas_.

I visited the poor creature and gave what help I could; but, being by no
means reassured as to the nature of her malady, and unwilling to sleep
in the vicinity of an infected room, I ordered the carriage to be placed
under a shed and proposed to pass the night in it. The host, however, on
hearing this, told me that it was quite impracticable, as the village
dogs were so famished that they would be sure to attack the carriage for
the sake of the leather on it. “I have taken the precaution,” he added,
“of removing every part that is liable to be destroyed, but there is no
telling what these animals will do.” I then ordered the hamper to be
brought in and supper to be prepared; but on sitting down on the floor to
partake of it we discovered that our provision of bread was exhausted,
and learnt that not a morsel was procurable in the village. Our host
explained this by saying, “You see, _gospoyer_, our village is so poor
and miserable that we have no drinkable water, and our _bulkas_ have to
fetch it from a distance of three miles. We have no fuel either, for the
village has no forest, and we content ourselves with what you see on the
hearth. As for bread, it is a luxury we seldom enjoy; millet flour mixed
with water into a paste and baked on the ashes is our substitute for it;
it does for us, but would not please you.”

In the mean time the women and children had gathered round me in the
little room, all looking so poor, fever-stricken, and miserable, and
casting such looks of eager surprise at the exhibition of eatables before
me, that I felt positively sick at heart; all my appetite left me, and
distributing my supper among the hungry crowd, I contented myself with a
cup of tea, and endeavored to forget in sleep the picture of misery I had
witnessed. I was thankful to get away in the morning, and am happy to say
that neither before nor since have I witnessed such poverty and misery as
I saw in that village.

The marked slowness of perception in the character of the Bulgarian
peasants, and their willingness to allow others to think and act for
them in great matters, is not so apparent when the immediate interests
of the village or community are concerned. Before referring these to
the higher authorities, they meet and quietly discuss their affairs,
and often settle the differences among themselves. The respect the
Bulgarian entertains for the clergy and for the enlightened portion of
his fellow-countrymen is so great that he allows himself to be entirely
guided by them, evincing in small things as well as great the feeling of
harmony and union that binds the whole people together. But the reverse
of this disposition is manifested by the Bulgarians, more especially
the peasants, towards any foreign element, and particularly towards the
Turkish authorities. Obedient and submissive as they have generally shown
themselves under the Ottoman rule, they have inwardly always disliked and
distrusted it, saying that the government with regard to their country,
its richest field of harvest, has only one object in view—that of getting
as much out of it as possible.

This prevalent idea, not altogether ill-founded, gave to the Bulgarian
character that rapacity and love of gain which, being developed by late
events, in the midst of general ruin and loss of property, tempted him to
try to get what he could of what had been left, without much scruple as
to the means. When unmerited calamities befall a people, and oppression
long weighs heavily upon them, the sense of justice and humanity is
gradually lost and replaced by a spirit of vindictiveness which incites
to ignoble and cruel actions. This ought not to surprise the world in
the case of the Bulgarians, when their national life during the last
two years is taken into consideration; for what is it but a series of
unspeakable outrages by their enemies, and destruction by those who
professed themselves their friends?

The Bulgarians, however, as I have known them in more peaceful times,
never appeared to possess as national characteristics the vices that
hasty and partial judges arguing from special instances have attributed
to them. On the contrary, they seemed a peace-loving, hard-working
people, possessing many domestic virtues which, if properly developed
under a good government, might make the strength of an honest and
promising state.




CHAPTER II.

THE GREEKS OF TURKEY.

    Importance of the Greeks at the Present Moment—Their
    Attitude—The Greek Peasant as Contrasted with the
    Bulgarian—His Family—Eloquence—Patriotism—Comforts—The
    Women—A Greek Girl—Women of the Towns of the Upper Class—Of
    the Lower Class—Wives and Husbands—Greek Parties—The
    Conservatives and the Progressives—A Conversation on
    Greek Go-a-head-ness—Physical Features of the Modern
    Greek—Character—General Prejudice—A Prussian Estimate—Greek
    Vices—An Adventure with Greek Brigands—Adelphé—Unscrupulousness
    in Business—Causes and Precedents—Jews and Greeks—Summary.


All eyes are now turned upon the Greek race as one of the most important
factors in the Eastern Question. The future of South-Eastern Europe is
seen to lie in the balance between Greek and Slav, and people’s opinions
incline to one side or the other as dread of Russia or distrust of
“Greek guile” gets the upper hand. I have nothing to say here about the
people of free Hellas: I have only to tell what I have witnessed of the
character and condition of the subject Greeks in Turkey. These, though
they shared in the national effort of 1821-9, reaped little of the
fruits. The Greeks of Macedonia, Thessaly, and Thrace did not gain the
freedom accorded to the people of “Greece Proper,” though their condition
was somewhat improved. But they are only biding their time. They know
that their free countrymen are anxious to share with them the results of
the glorious struggle of 1821. They know that centuries of subjection
and oppression have demoralized and debased the nation; and they have
long been striving with their whole strength to prepare themselves for
freedom. They have employed the time of transition with great moderation
and judgment. Those whom the Porte has appointed to high offices have
filled their posts with conscientiousness, fidelity, and dignity. Taught
worldly wisdom in the school of adversity, they have avoided premature
conspiracy and rebellion, and have directed all their energies to
educating the race for its future. “Improve and wait patiently” is the
motto of the Greeks in Turkey.

The Greek peasant differs greatly from the Bulgarian. Agriculture is not
all the world to him; his love for the pursuit is decidedly moderate
unless he sees an opening for enterprise and speculation, as in the
growth of some special kind of produce which he can sell in the raw
condition or as manufactured goods. Unlike the Bulgarian, his whole
family is not chained to the soil as the one business of life. When the
paterfamilias can dispense with the services of some of his daughters,
they leave their home in pursuit of occupation, and his sons in the same
manner are allowed to quit the paternal roof in search of some more
lucrative employment elsewhere. It is thus that the Greek is to be found
in every nook and corner of Turkey, established among his own kindred
or with foreigners, and following various professions and callings, as
doctors, lawyers, schoolmasters; whilst, descending to a lower scale, we
find him employed in every town and village as a petty tradesman, mason,
carpenter, shoe-maker, musician, in all which occupations he manages by
dint of energy, perseverance, and address to obtain a modest competence,
or sometimes even to reach prosperity.

I remember, among other instances of the kind, the case of a Greek
peasant family in the district of B⸺. The father was a respectable man,
who owned a small property in his native village, and whose quiver was
filled with eight children. The eldest remained to assist on the farm;
two others of tender age also remained under the mother’s care; the other
five, including a girl, left their home, and came to the town. One of the
boys and the girl took service with me; a second boy apprenticed himself
to a photographer, another became a painter of church pictures, and the
fourth a cigarette-maker. The salaries these young peasants received
were at first very meagre; but all the same the four boys clubbed their
savings together, and after a time sent for their younger brother to live
in town in order to enjoy the benefit of receiving a good education.
Six years passed, during which the boy and his pretty and intelligent
sister remained in my house; both learned to speak English, the boy
having studied the language grammatically in his leisure moments. They
are now honest, intelligent servants, perfect in the performance of their
duties, and devoted to my family. The three apprentices, through their
steadiness, good conduct, and energy, have become proficient enough in
their different callings to set up for themselves, while the boy at
school is one of the most advanced students of the _Gymnasium_.

The intellectual position of the Greeks is far superior to that of the
Bulgarians. They are cleverer, and they and their children are more
advanced in education. They display a great interest in passing events,
as well as in politics, a knowledge of which they obtain by means of
the numerous Greek newspapers they receive from Athens, Constantinople,
and all the large towns of Turkey. These journals find their way to the
remotest hamlets, one or two being sufficient to make the round of a
village. They also possess other literature in the shape of the history
of their country, biographies of some of their illustrious ancestors,
and national songs in the vernacular. All these make a deep impression
upon the entire population, who, after the conclusion of the labors of
the day, gather together in the taverns and coffee-houses to discuss
matters, talking excellent sense over the coffee-cup, or waxing hot and
uproarious over their wine and _raki_.

The Greek peasant displays none of the embarrassment and tonguetiedness
of the Bulgarian. I have often met with instances of this: one especially
struck me which happened in the early part of last summer in the vilayet
of B⸺. Some Bashi-bazouks had entered a village, and committed some of
their usual excesses; but the peasants had found time to send away their
wives and daughters to a place of safety. On the following day a body
of fifty Greeks came to complain to the authorities. In order to render
their claims more effective, they applied for protection at the different
Consulates. I happened to be at luncheon at one of these Consulates,
and the Consul ordered the men to be shown into the dining-room to make
their statements. One at once stepped forward to give an account of the
affair, which he related with so much eloquence and in such pure modern
Greek that the Consul, suspecting him to be some lawyer in disguise, or
a special advocate of Greek grievances, set him aside, and called upon
another to give his version. Several looked questioningly at each other,
but with no sign of embarrassment; on the contrary, the expression on
each face betokened natural self-confidence, and meant in this instance
to say, “We can each tell the tale equally well, but I had better begin
than you.”

Patriotism is highly developed among the Greek peasants, who are fully
aware of the meaning of the word _patris_, and taught to bear in mind
that half a century ago free Hellas formed part of the Ottoman Empire;
that its inhabitants, like themselves, were a subject people, and owe
the freedom they now enjoy to self-sacrifice and individual exertion.
“They are our elder brothers,” say they, “who have stepped into their
inheritance before us. There is a just God for us as well!”

The wants of the Greek are more numerous than those of the Bulgarians.
Their dress, for instance, is not limited to a coarse suit of _aba_ and
a sheepskin _gougla_, but is sometimes made of fine cloth and other rich
materials, and includes shoes and stockings. The culinary department
also demands more utensils; besides which, tables, table-linen, knives
and forks are often seen at their meals. The bedding they use is more
complete, and does not consist solely of rugs, as with the Bulgarians.
Their houses are better built, with some regard to comfort and
appearance, frequently with two stories, besides possessing chimneys
and windows (when safe to do so). The village schools are better
organized, and kept under the careful supervision of the Society for
their direction, and the churches are more numerous. The women are less
employed in field work, and consequently more refined in their tastes,
prettier in appearance, and more careful and elegant in their dress. The
Greek peasant girl knows the value of her personal charms, and disdains
to load herself with the tarnished trinkets, gaudy flowers, and other
wonderful productions in which the Bulgarian maiden delights. A skirt of
some bright-colored silk or mixed stuff and a cloth jacket embroidered
with gold form the principal part of her gala costume, covered with a
fur-lined pelisse for out-of-door wear. Her well-combed hair is plaited
in numerous tresses, and surmounted by the small Greek cap, which is
decorated with gold and silver coins like those she wears as a necklace.
She is not to be bought, like the Bulgarian, for a sum of money paid
to her father as an equivalent for her services; but according to her
means is dowered and given in marriage, like the maidens of classical
times. Still the peasant girl is neither lazy nor useless; she takes an
active part in the duties of the household, is early taught to knit and
spin the silk, flax, wool, or cotton which the mother requires for the
different home-made tissues of the family. She leads her father’s flock
to the pasture, and under the title of _Voskopoula_ kindles a flame in
the heart of the village youth and inspires the rustic muse. On Sundays
and feast-days she enters heartily into all the innocent pleasures of
her retired and isolated life. She has more pride than the Bulgarian;
and although in married life she is submissive and docile, she possesses
a greater depth and richness of love. I have known instances of peasant
girls exchanging vows with youths of their village who are leaving their
home in search of fortune, and patiently waiting for them and refusing
all offers in the mean time. In most cases this devotion is requited by
equal constancy on the part of the lover; but should she be deserted, her
grief is so terrible that she not seldom dies from the blow.

If there is more than one daughter in a family, some from the age of
twelve or fourteen are usually sent to town and placed out as servants,
with the double object of giving them the opportunity of seeing more of
the world and the means of earning something for their own maintenance.
These earnings as they are acquired are converted into gold coins and
strung into necklaces.

When these girls are honest and good, and fall into proper hands, they
are usually adopted by the family with whom they take service, under the
title of ψυχόπαιδα. On reaching the age of twenty-five or twenty-seven a
trousseau is given to them with a small dowry, and they are married to
some respectable artisan. Those simply hired as servants either marry in
the towns or do so on returning to their native village.

The Greek peasant women are as a rule clean and industrious, fond mothers
and virtuous wives. The best proof of their morality is in the long
absences many husbands are obliged to make from their homes, which are
attended by no unfaithful results. In some instances for a period of even
twenty years the wife becomes the sole director of the property, which
she manages with care and wisdom, and the only guardian of the children
left in her charge.

The peasants who still cling to the soil plod away at their daily toil in
very much the same way as the Bulgarians, but show a greater aptitude for
rearing the silkworm and growing olives and grapes. The Greek peasants
are not models of perfection; but as a body they are better than any
other race in Turkey, and under a good government they are certain to
improve and develop much faster than either the Bulgarians or the Turks.

The Greek women of the towns, according to their station and the amount
of refinement and modern ideas they have been imbued with, display in
their manners and mode of living the virtues and faults inherent in the
Greek character. I must in justice state that the former exceed the
latter; their virtues consist principally in their quality of good honest
wives, and in the simple lives they are usually content to lead in their
homes. The enlightenment and conversational talents of some of the better
class do not fall far short of those of European ladies. Those less
endowed by education and nature have a quiet modest bearing, and evince
a great desire to improve. The most striking faults in the Greek woman’s
character are fondness of dress and display, vanity, and jealousy of the
better circumstances of her neighbors. The spirit of envious rivalry
in dress and outward appearance is often carried to such a pass that
the real comforts of home-life are sacrificed, and many live poorly and
dress meanly on ordinary occasions in order to display a well-furnished
drawing-room and expensive holiday costumes to the public. When living
in the town of N⸺, I was taken into the confidence of the Archbishop’s
niece, who was my neighbor. She confessed to me that on promenade days
she regularly stationed her servant at the end of the street in order to
inspect the toilette of her rival, the wife of the richest _chorbadji_,
so that she might be able to eclipse her.

Greek ladies are fond and devoted mothers, but they are not systematic in
rearing their children. This has, however, been remedied in many cases by
children of both sexes being placed from a very early age in the care of
governesses, or at school, where the more regular training they receive
cannot fail to have beneficial results.

The life of women of the working classes is still more homely and
retired, as it is considered an impropriety to be seen much out of
doors, especially in the case of young girls, whom prejudice keeps very
secluded, even to the length of seldom allowing them to go to church.
When abroad, however, their fondness for display is equal to that of
their richer sisters, whose toilettes, however novel or complicated,
in cities like Constantinople and Smyrna, are sure to be copied by the
fishermen’s or washerwomen’s daughters. In provincial towns like Rodosto
and Adrianople, the love of dress finds its satisfaction in bright colors
and wreaths of artificial flowers, especially the much coveted carnation,
when out of season, which is worn by some as a love-trophy; for it must
have been given by some lover on the feast-day. Greek girls are very
clever at needlework and embroidery; but their life is nevertheless
monotonous, and they have little variety of occupation and amusement.
This is owing in part to the exclusion of women of all races in Turkey
from occupations in shops, and to the absence of manufactories, which,
with the exception of some silk factories, do not exist in the country.
Those in the silk-growing districts, however, give employment to a number
of Greek girls, who show great aptitude for this branch of industry, and
often become directresses of establishments in which Armenian and other
women are employed.

The affection of a Greek wife for her husband is joined to a jealous care
of his interest; she will strive to hide his faults and weaknesses, and
the disinterested devotion with which she will cling to him in prosperity
and adversity is astonishing. A woman belonging to the town of S⸺, on
hearing that her husband had been arrested on a charge of complicity
with brigands, left her home and five children to the care of a blind
grandmother, and set out on foot on a three days’ journey to the town
where he was to be tried. He was condemned to seven years’ imprisonment,
and sent to the prison at A⸺, whither she followed him. Young and pretty,
entirely friendless, and without means of subsistence, she lingered
about the Greek quarter until her sad tale gained her an asylum in a
compassionate family. She toiled hard to gain a small pittance, which she
divided between herself and her unhappy partner shut up in the common
prison. The dreadful news was brought to her that three of her children
were dead, that her house was falling to pieces, and that her aged and
afflicted mother was unable to take care of the two surviving little
ones. Unmoved by these calamities, she refused to quit the town of A⸺
until, through the instrumentality of some influential persons whose
sympathies she had enlisted, her husband’s period of punishment was
shortened.

Greek society may be divided into two classes, the conservative
party and the progressive. The former, in the provincial towns, are
jealous of their rights and privileges as elders of the community and
representatives of the nation in the _Medjliss_. In many instances these
side with the authorities in acts of injustice, sometimes from timidity
and sometimes from interested motives. This small retrograde class is
also strongly opposed to the progress of education, and often hinders it
by stint of money and general hostility to all changes.

The second class consists of the educated members of the community, who
earn their fortunes in much the same way as the rest of the civilized
world, and spend it liberally in comforts and luxuries, and for the
benefit of the nation—an object to which every Greek tries to contribute
in some degree. The motto of this party is _Embros!_ (Forward!) They are
stopped by no difficulties and overcome by no drawbacks, either in their
personal interests or those of the nation. Their success in enterprise
should no longer (as formerly) be attributed to disloyalty, dishonesty,
and intrigue—in these respects there is no reason for believing them
worse than their neighbors—but to the wonderful energy and ability they
show in all their undertakings. I heard a conversation some time ago
between two medical celebrities of Constantinople with reference to the
Greek spirit of enterprise and ambition. One praised their enterprise as
a promising quality, and, to use his own expression, said, “There is an
immense amount of ‘go’ in the Greek.”

“Go!” repeated the other, waxing hot, “Too much so, I believe: there
is no telling where a Greek’s enterprising spirit may not lead him, or
where his ambition will stop! Listen to my experience on the subject
and judge for yourself. Some years ago I was asked by a good old Greek
I knew very well to take his son, a youth of twenty, into my service.
According to the father’s recommendation, he was a good Greek scholar
and knew a little Latin. I asked the father in what capacity I was to
engage him. ‘Any you like,’ was the reply: ‘let him be your servant—your
slave.’ ‘Very well; but he will have to clean my boots and look after my
clothes!’ ‘πολὺ καλὰ’ was the response, and I engaged his son.

“On the following day my new valet entered upon his duties. He was a
good-looking, smart, and intelligent fellow, and at first exact and able
in the performance of his functions; but gradually he became lax, absent
in manner, and negligent; although steady and quiet in his conduct.
One day the mystery of this change was revealed on my returning home
unexpectedly, and finding the fellow, instead of cleaning my boots, which
he held in his hand, deeply plunged in one of the medical works on my
table. In my anger at seeing my papers and books meddled with, I brought
my boots into contact with his head, telling him that if ever I caught
him again at that sort of thing, he would be punished more severely.
‘Forgive me,’ said he, in a very penitent manner, and walked demurely
out of the room. He showed, however, no signs of improvement, and
subsequently I discovered him committing no less a piece of impertinence
than copying some prescriptions that lay on my desk. This was too much;
so, as a punishment, I made him take one of the potions; but on the next
day he calmly told me that the _iatrico_ had done him good, having calmed
his blood and cleared his head! Of course, I dismissed the fellow and
replaced him by an Armenian, who answered my purpose better, though he
did dive now and then rather extensively into the larder. For some years
I lost sight of my former valet, and had forgotten his very existence
till it was brought to my recollection in the following unexpected
manner. I one day received a pressing message to go at once to the
house of D⸺ Pasha to see a sick child and hold a consultation with his
new _hekim bashi_ (doctor) on its case. At the appointed hour I went,
and on entering the konak was ushered into the selamlik to await the
arrival of the other doctor who was to lead me into the harem. In a few
minutes my supposed colleague walked in, hat and gold-headed stick in
one hand, while the other was extended to me, with the words ‘καλημέρα,
ἴατρε’(good-morning, doctor). The face and voice transfixed me for a
moment, but the next presented to me the fact that my former valet stood
before me, claiming the right of holding a consultation with me. Whereat
I was on the point of giving vent to my indignation, by seizing him by
the collar and ejecting him from the apartment, when he quietly said,
‘Excuse me, ἴατρε, but I stand before you in right of the diploma I
have obtained from Galata Serai. Allow me to submit it to your learned
and honorable inspection.’ There was no denying the fact; the fellow’s
diploma was in perfect order. My anger cooling, I consented to consult
with him, when he again incensed me by venturing to take a view of the
case opposed to mine. His opposition, however, was only momentary; for,
taking the upper hand, I dictated my directions to him, and he, yielding
with a good grace to my experience, carried out my orders with great
precision. I had subsequently many opportunities of meeting him, and must
in justice say that he turned out one of the best pupils of Galata Serai,
and the most grateful man I have ever known. He is at present attached to
the Red Cross Society, to which he gives the greatest satisfaction.”

In feature and build the modern Greek still possesses the characteristic
traits of his ancestors. Scientific researches and anatomical
observations made upon the skulls of ancient Greeks are said to prove
that if art had glorified to a slight extent the splendid models of
statues, it could not have strayed very far from the originals. Such
pure and perfect types are constantly met with at the present day in the
modern Greeks, who, as a rule, possess fine open foreheads, straight
noses, and fine eyes full of fire and intelligence, furnished with black
lashes and well-defined eyebrows; the mouths are small or of medium size,
with a short upper lip; the chin rather prominent, but rounded. The
entire physiognomy differs so essentially from the other native types
that it is impossible to mistake it. In stature the Greek is rather tall
than otherwise, well made and well proportioned; the hands and feet are
small in both sexes. The walk is graceful, but has a kind of swagger and
ease in it, which, although it looks natural in the national costume,
seems affected in the European dress.

The distinct Greek type, so noticeable in certain localities, has in
others suffered from the admixture with foreign elements; but we find
it again in all its perfection in the inhabitants of the coast of Asia
Minor, where the Greeks were at one epoch so crushed and denationalized
as to have lost the use of their mother-tongue. Some of the finest
specimens of the Greek race may be found in Smyrna, Gemlek, and Philadar,
as well as in more inland places, such as Mahalitch, Demirdesh, and
Kellessen.

The influence and effects of the last and most important change must
be carefully followed and the transformation already wrought upon the
nation taken into consideration before a fair and impartial estimate of
the character of the present Greeks can be arrived at. The nation in its
present scattered condition presents great variety and dissemblance; but
even these points, in my opinion, constitute its force and guarantee
its future prosperity. No person well acquainted with modern Greece can
contest the vast improvement in the national character during the last
half century, the moral development already gained, and the prosperous
condition the little kingdom has now entered upon. The educated and
enlightened _rayah_ follows closely in the footsteps of his liberated
kinsmen, and bids fair some day to catch them up. Until recent times the
real advance in the Greek character seems to have escaped the notice of
European critics, and in obedience to ancient prejudice it is still the
fashion to cry down the future queen of South-East Europe. A charitable
Prussian diplomatist, writing with more zeal than knowledge, gave the
following flattering portrait of the Greeks of Constantinople at the end
of the last century;

“Le quartier est la demeure de ce qu’on appelle la noblesse grecque, qui
vivent tous aux dépenses des princes de Moldavie et de Valachie. C’est
une université de toutes les scélératesses, et il n’existe pas encore
de langue assez riche pour donner des noms à toutes celles qui s’y
commettent. Le fils y apprend de bonne heure à assassiner adroitement son
père pour quelque argent qu’il ne saurait être poursuivi. Les intrigues,
les cabales, l’hypocrisie, la trahison, la perfidie, surtout l’art
d’extorquer de l’argent de toutes mains, y sont enseignés méthodiquement!”

An English author of more recent date, but neither more enlightened
nor animated with a greater sense of justice or impartiality, denies
their right to a national history or their possession of an ancestry,
furnishing them instead with one out of his fertile imagination.
According to him several millions of Greeks are nameless, homeless
upstarts, who have invariably made their fortunes by following the trade
of _bakals_, or chandlers, and, with the enormous and illegal profits
of their business, send their sons to Athens to be educated and receive
a European varnish, then to return to Turkey full of pretension and bad
morals, to sow discord and create mischief among their less enlightened
brethren. Such absurd statements carry their own refutation; but they
mislead people who are already prejudiced and ready to believe anything
bad of the Greeks. The general currency such erroneous assertions
receive, even in England, the country of Byron and the seamen of
Navarino, struck me in a remark lately made by an intelligent English
boy of twelve, who, happening to hear the Greeks mentioned at the
luncheon-table, asked his mother if all the Greeks were not cut-throats?

These fallacies are gradually being cleared away. As a nation the Greeks
possess undeniable virtues and talents, which, properly encouraged and
guided, have in them the making of a strong progressive people—such as
one day the Greeks will assuredly be. Their faults are as distinct and
prominent as their virtues. In the careful and impartial examination a
long residence has enabled me to make of the character of this people,
I discovered a good deal of vanity, bravado, and overweening conceit.
They are vain of their ability, and still more vain of the merits and
capacity of free Hellas, of which they are so enamoured as to consider
this little kingdom, in its way, on a level with the Great Powers. The
spirit of bravado is often shown in animated disputes and controversies,
for which they have a great partiality. They are subtle, extremely
sensitive, fond of gain, but never miserly. Their enthusiastic nature,
given free scope, will lead them into the doing of golden deeds; and, in
the same way, bad influence will make of some the most finished rogues
in creation. No Greek thief of Constantinople will be beaten in daring
or in the art of carrying out a _coup de main_. No assassin will more
recklessly plunge his knife into the heart of an enemy, no seducer be
more enticing, no brigand more dashing and bold. And yet in the worst
of these there is some redeeming quality; a noble action polluted by
many bad ones; crimes often followed by remorse and a return to a steady
and honest life. Gratitude for a good service is always met with among
the Greeks, as among the Albanians. An example of this may be seen in
an adventure that more than twenty years ago happened to an Englishman
in the Government employ, who was travelling in a province infested
by brigands. Armed and accompanied by a good escort, Mr. F. had set
out during the night for the town of L⸺, and following the impulse of
an adventurous spirit, he strayed away from his companions in a dense
forest. The light of a full moon made the path quite distinct, and he
had proceeded some distance, when his bridle was suddenly seized by some
fierce-looking fellows, who appeared by his side as if by magic. Mr.
F.’s surprise was as great as the action was menacing; but he instantly
seized his revolver, and thought on the prudence of using it, when the
“capitan,” a regular _leromenos_,[1] sprang forward, and a struggle
ensued for its possession, in which the weapon was broken. The moment was
critical, the danger imminent, for self-defence was out of the question
with a broken revolver. In this emergency, with the presence of mind
which characterizes him, Mr. F. thought of another means of protection,
and removing the white cover of his official cap, pointed out the crown
on it, and declared himself a servant of the British Government. This
had the desired effect, for the chief released his hold of the bridle,
and retired a short distance with his companions to hold a consultation,
the result of which was his again stepping forward, and inquiring if
the gentleman was the son of the consul of the town of T⸺, and being
answered in the affirmative the “capitan,” with much feeling, declared
he was free to pursue his way, for his father had rendered many good and
noble services to the Greek families of Thessaly and Epirus, and had
saved the lives and property of many others. “Besides,” added he, “we
love and respect the English. But a few miles hence you will fall in with
the camp of old A. Pasha, who, with 800 troops and two guns, intends to
surround yonder mountain, where he expects to entrap and chase us like
wild beasts. The price of your freedom is your word of honor not to
reveal to him your meeting with us until to-morrow; when that is given,
your escort will be allowed to pass unmolested.” Mr. F. then continued
his journey, and a couple of hours brought him to the camp of his
friend the brigand-chasing Pasha, who gave him an excellent supper, and
entertained him with the plan of his next day’s assault on the brigand
band, to which he had patiently to listen, bound as he was by his word
not to reveal what he knew of their whereabouts until the next day. As
the game the Pasha expected to entrap escaped him on the morrow, the
revelation naturally annoyed him; but he was too well aware of the value
an Englishman placed upon his pledged word, even to a brigand, to find
fault with the reticence of his friend on that occasion.

The Greek aristocracy has almost disappeared, and the nation seems
now eminently democratic, though fond of giving titles to persons of
position, such as “Your Worship,” “Your Honor,” “Your Highness,” etc.,
and “Your Holiness” to the clergy. Such terms are smoothly introduced
in epistolary addresses or used in conversation, so long as this is
carried on with calmness and reflection; but directly discussion becomes
animated, and the speaker, whatever his condition, excited, all such
high-flown phrases are discarded and exchanged for that more natural to
the Greek fraternal feeling, the word “Adelphé” (brother), which never
fails to grate upon the ear of Englishmen in the East.

It certainly had this effect upon one of our old consuls who had rather
a hasty temper and was a strict observer of etiquette. On one occasion
he had to listen to an excited Greek who had a dispute with another, and
heard the title of Adelphé addressed to him by the complainant, who, to
make matters worse, was by no means such a respectable person as could
be wished. The indignant consul exclaimed in Greek, “Brother! I am no
brother of yours!” and was proceeding to render his assurance more
effectual by a vigorous and unexpected movement of his foot, when he lost
his balance and was stretched on the floor. This unforeseen aspect of
affairs appeared so comical to him that he indulged in a hearty peal of
laughter, in which the Greek, though politely asking after his injuries,
joined—in his sleeve.

The charges raised most frequently against the Greeks are their
want of honesty in their dealings with strangers, and their general
unscrupulousness in business transactions. These accusations, in great
part well founded, are due to the unnatural position in which the rayah
is placed. Every Greek who is truly a Greek in heart (and I have known
few who were not so) must detest and dislike his rulers, and direct his
energies to promoting, openly or secretly, the interest of his nation.
In order to do this, however, he must work in the dark, and strive
to undermine the interests of his masters; consequently the mask of
hypocrisy has to be worn by all in the same way. To cheat the Turks in
small matters when he can, in revenge for grosser injuries he is liable
to receive from them, becomes one of his objects. His is not the only
subject race that evinces a laxity of principle and want of morality in
the transaction of business. He is sharp in its despatch, perhaps sharper
than some others, but no worse than they in the manner in which he
carries on his trade.

I have often heard this subject discussed in all its bearings, and the
statements of European as well as native merchants appeared to agree on
the main point—that with the corrupt administration, and the perpetual
necessity of having recourse to bribery in order to facilitate the course
of business, honest and straightforward dealing was out of the question.
“We must,” said a wealthy French merchant, “do in Turkey as the Turks
do, or else seek a fortune elsewhere.” The following incident out of
innumerable others will give an idea of how enterprise is encouraged and
business carried on in this country.

Some Jews in the town of L⸺ had established a soap factory, producing
a bad article and selling it at high prices. Subsequently some Cretan
Greeks set up a rival establishment in the same town. The Cretans enjoyed
a great repute in Turkey for this branch of industry, and offered their
soaps to the public at a lower price than the Jews, who were thrown
into the shade; these therefore had to invent some plan to ruin their
rivals. Both factories imported their own oil from the Greek islands,
and paid the duties in kind or in cash. The Greeks adopted the former
method, and the Jews, aware of the fact, presented themselves at the
custom-house, estimated the oil the Greeks received at double its value,
and transported a portion of it to their premises, thus obliging the
Greeks to pay double duty—a serious matter, which, if not remedied, would
ruin their business. They decided upon offering the Jews privately half
of the extra duty they were called upon by them to pay to the revenue.
But on a second cargo of oil being imported they abstained from paying
that sum to the Jews, who thereupon made them pay double duty a second
time, which so exasperated the Greeks that they resolved to have their
revenge. So, sending a fresh order for oil, they instructed their agent
to have two of the barrels filled with water, and marked with some sign.
This cargo on arriving was left by the Greeks in the custom-house until
the Friday afternoon when they went to clear it. The Jews, made aware of
this fact by their spies, also presented themselves, estimated the oil,
as formerly, at double its value, and offered to purchase the two barrels
left as payment of duty. The Greeks prolonged the affair until there
was only just time for the Jews to take away their purchase, but not to
inspect it without breaking the Sabbath. On the following evening the
Jews discovered the trick that had been played upon them, and exposed it
to the custom-house officials, demanding redress. The Greeks, summoned to
appear and answer the charge, denied that the swindle had been practised
by them, and exposed the dishonest dealings of the Jews towards them,
saying that it must have been they who abstracted the oil and replaced
it with water, with the object of cheating the Customs. The authorities,
unwilling to take further trouble about the matter, sent away both
parties, and would have nothing more to do with the case. The Jews in
the mean time were inconsolable; and when the Cretans thought they had
been sufficiently punished, they confessed the trick, and offered to make
amends by refunding the money they had paid for the casks if they would
go with them to the Rabbi and take an oath to make no more attempts to
injure their business by dishonest means.

The principal Greek merchants trade under foreign protection, as it
affords them greater security and freedom from the intrigues of the ill
disposed.

To sum up. The subject Greek of Turkey has his vices: he is
over-ambitious, conceited, too diplomatic and wily; and, in common with
most merchants, European or Eastern, in Turkey, he does his best to cheat
the Turks—and occasionally extends the practice further, not without
excellent precedent. But these are the vices of a race long kept in
servitude and now awaking to the sense of a great ancestry: the servitude
has produced the servile fault of double-dealing and dishonesty; and the
pride of a noble past has engendered the conceit of the present. Such
vices are but passing deformities: they are the sharp angles and bony
length of the girl-form that will in time be perfected in beauty. These
faults will disappear with the spread of education and the restoring of
freedom long withheld. The quick intellect and fine mettle of the Greek,
like his lithe body, descended from a nation of heroes, are destined to
great things. The name alone of Hellenes carries with it the prescriptive
right of speaking and doing nobly; and the modern Hellenes will not
disown their birthright.




CHAPTER III.

THE ALBANIANS.

    Albania little known to Travellers—Character of the
    Country—Isolation and Neglect—Products—The Landholders—Ali
    Bey’s Revolution—Albanian Towns—The Albanian’s House his
    Castle In a Literal Sense—Blood Feuds—Villages—Unapproachable
    Position—The Defence of Souli—Joannina—Beautiful Site—Ali
    Pasha’s Improvements—Greek Enterprise—The Albanians—Separate
    Tribes—The Ghegs—The Tosks—Character of the Latter—Superiority
    of the Ghegs—Respect for Women—An Adventure with a Brigand
    Chief—Gheg Gratitude—A Point of Honor with an Albanian
    Servant—Religion among the Albanians—Education among
    the Tosks—Warlike Character of the Albanians—Use of the
    Gun—The Vendetta—Women to the Rescue—Albanian Women in
    General—Female Adornment—Emigration—Mutual Assistance
    Abroad—The Albanian Character—Recklessness—Love of
    Display—Improvidence—Pride—Hatred of the Turks reciprocated to
    the Full.


The Albanians, like most of the races of minor importance inhabiting
European Turkey, are little known to the civilized world. Albania, with
its impassable mountains, broken by deep and precipitous ravines, the
footways of torrents, has been visited only by those few travellers who
have had enough courage and adventurous spirit to penetrate into its
fastnesses. This country, occupying the place of the ancient Illyria and
Epirus, was in the middle ages called Arvanasi, and later on Arnaoutlik
by the Turks and Arvanitia by the Greeks; but in the native tongue it
is called Skiperi, or “land of rocks.” It is divided into Upper and
Lower Albania, and forms two vilayets, that of Scutari (comprising the
provinces of Berat, El Bassan, Ochrida, Upper and Lower Dibra, Tirana,
Candia, Duratzo, Cruia, Tessi, Scutari, Dulcigno, and Podgoritza), and
that of Joannina, in Epirus (comprising Joannina, Konitza, Paleopogoyani,
Argyrokastro, Delvino, Parakalanio, Paramythia, Margariti, Leapourie or
Arbar, and Avlona).

Owing to the mountainous character of the country, and the turbulent
and warlike disposition of its inhabitants, it is still unexplored in
many parts, poorly cultivated in others, and everywhere much neglected
in its rich and fertile valleys. Unfortunately agriculture, still in a
very primitive and neglected condition throughout Turkey, is especially
so in Albania. This neglect, however prejudicial to the well-being of
the inhabitants, rather heightens the wild beauty of the scenery, the
changing grandeur and loveliness of which alternately awes and delights
the traveller.

Shut out from the civilized world by the want of roads and means of
communication, all the natural advantages the country possesses have
remained stationary, and its beauty and fertility turned to little
account by the wild and semi-savage population that inhabits it.

The principal productions of Illyrian Albania are horses, sheep, and
oxen, reared in the valleys of the Mousakia; grain is extensively grown
at Tirana; and rye and Indian corn are grown in El Bassan; and in some
parts of Dibra a coarse kind of silk is manufactured into home-spun
tissues, and used for the elaborate embroidery of the picturesque
national costume. A stout felt used for the _capa_, or cloak, is made of
wool. A kind of red leather, and other articles of minor importance, are
also manufactured in these parts.

Epirus, or Lower Albania, owing to its more favorable situation and the
mildness of its climate, is by far the more fertile and better cultivated
of the two vilayets. In addition to the above-mentioned products, it
grows rice, cotton, olives, tobacco, oranges, citrons, grapes, and
cochineal. Though agriculture is carried on in the same primitive manner,
richer harvests are produced, and, as shown by the yearly returns, there
is a steady increase of the export trade.

Albania abounds in minerals, but the mines are little known, still less
worked. Hot springs, possessing valuable medicinal qualities, are also to
be found in many places, but the country people are totally ignorant of
their properties, and take the waters indiscriminately for any ailments
they may happen to have, and, in obedience to the old superstitious
reverence for the spirits of the fountains, even drink from several
different sources in the hope of gaining favor with their respective
nymphs.

The large landowners, both in Upper and Lower Albania, are Mohammedans,
often perverted from Christianity. They still exercise a despotic and
unlimited control over the peasants, and show the convert’s proverbial
spirit of intolerance towards their brethren who hold fast the faith
of their fathers. At the beginning of this century, and before Ali
Pasha had made himself the complete master of Joannina, much of the
landed property in Lower Albania was held by Christians, and many
semi-independent villages, entirely inhabited by Christians, were to be
found scattered all over the country. Their number was sadly diminished
during the revolutionary convulsion that upset the country. The property
of many Christian landholders experienced the same fate. Their estates
were snatched from their lawful owners by the wily, avaricious, and
hypocritical despot, who, employing by turns the three methods of force,
fraud, and nominal compensation, drove away the owners and appropriated
the lands to himself. After his death all these lands passed to the crown
as _Imlak_ property, and were never restored to their former possessors.

The landed property in both Upper and Lower Albania still retains much of
the characteristics of the species of feudal system which once prevailed
throughout Turkey; but instead of the rule of a few powerful Beys or one
single despot, a legion of petty tyrants hold the people in bondage. Yet
there may be found among the landholders a few, poorer than the rest, who
are respected for their integrity and for their paternal treatment of
the peasants on their estates.

The general aspect of the towns and villages in Upper Albania differs
very little from that of other towns and villages in Turkey. The
same want of finish and clumsiness of workmanship prevail in all the
Albanian houses, which are usually detached from one another and stand
in court-yards surrounded by high walls. Some of these dwellings
are complete fortresses; but this is not on account of the terrible
never-ending blood-feuds transmitted from generation to generation, which
make each man’s life (out-of-doors) the least secure of his possessions.
In times of peace his house can be left with open gates, and is held
sacred and respected even by the vilest and most desperate characters;
for it is a point of honor with an Albanian never to incur the disgrace
of shedding a man’s blood in his own house; but the moment he crosses the
threshold, he is at the mercy of his foe.

An Albanian chieftain, who had a deadly quarrel with a neighbor and
consequently was in terror of his life, was compelled to stay within
doors for twelve long years, knowing the risk he ran if the threshold
were crossed. Finally, craving a little liberty, he obtained an armistice
and was allowed perfect freedom for a short space of time.

In times of open contention the houses are fortified and guarded by armed
bands, who conceal themselves in strongholds attached to some of the
buildings, watch for the approach of the enemy, and open fire upon them
from the loop-holes with which the walls are pierced.

The furniture of their dwelling-houses is scanty, poor, and comfortless.
Some valuable carpets, a gorgeously embroidered sofa in the
reception-room, and a few indispensable articles, are all they possess.
The streets are narrow and badly paved, and look dismal and deserted. The
bazars and shops are inferior to those of most of the towns of Turkey.
They contain no variety of objects for use or ornament beyond those
absolutely necessary for domestic purposes.

The villages are far more curious and interesting to the traveller than
the towns. Some of these in Upper Albania, in mountainous districts, are
at a great distance from each other, and are perched up on the summits
of high rocks that tower above each other in successive ranges, in some
places forming a natural and impassable rampart to the village, in others
trodden into steep paths where the goat doubtless delights to climb, but
where man experiences any but agreeable sensations.

Lower Albania, better known to travellers, is less rugged and wild in
appearance. But here and there we meet with mountainous districts—such as
the far-famed canton of Souli, which in the time of Ali Pasha numbered
eleven villages, some scattered on the peaks of mountains, others
studding their skirts; while the terrible Acheron gloomily wound its way
through the deep gorges that helped to secure the river its victims.

Souli, defended by its 13,000 inhabitants, withstood the siege of the
dreaded pasha’s armies, held them in check for fifteen years, and
acquired undying fame in the history of the war of Greek independence
for heroism hardly surpassed by the most valiant feats of the ancients,
and with which nothing in modern warfare can compare. Every Souliot,
man, woman, and child, was ready to perish in the defence. The women
and children who had fought so long by the side of their husbands and
fathers, at the last extremity, preferring death to captivity and
dishonor, threw themselves from the rocks into the dark stream below,
while the few that survived the final destruction cut their way through
their enemies, and were scattered over Greece to tell the sad tale of the
fall of Souli.

The plateau of Joannina is entirely surrounded by wooded mountains,
and is from 1,200 to 1,500 feet above the level of the sea. On
this table-land is a lake about fourteen miles in length and six in
breadth, on the rich borders of which rises the town of Joannina, like
a fairy palace in an enchanted land. This town, which contains 25,000
inhabitants, became the favorite abode of Ali Pasha, who transformed
and embellished it to a considerable extent, and founded schools and
libraries.

The edifices erected by him were partly destroyed by his followers, when
his power was supposed to have reached its end, together with the gilded
kiosks and superb palaces built for his own enjoyment. All that Joannina
can boast of at the present day is the exceeding beauty of its situation,
and the activity that Greek enterprise has given to its commerce, and the
excellent schools and syllogæ that have been established and are said to
be doing wonders in improving and educating the new generation of Epirus.

The Albanians are divided into several distinct races, each presenting
marked features of difference from the other and occupying separate
districts. Those of Upper Albania are called Ghegs, and inhabit that
portion of the country called Ghegueria, which extends from the frontiers
of Bosnia and Montenegro to Berat.

These men are broad-chested, tall, and robust, have regular features, and
a proud, manly, independent mien. Their personal attractions are not a
little enhanced by their rich and picturesque national costume—a pair of
cloth gaiters; an embroidered jacket with open sleeves; a double-breasted
waistcoat; the Greek fustanella (white calico kilt), surmounted by a
cloth skirt opened in front; a kemer, or leather belt, decorated with
silver ornaments, and holding a pistol, yataghan, and other arms of fine
workmanship. The whole costume is richly worked with gold thread. On the
head is worn a fez, wider at the top than round the head, and ornamented
with a long tassel.

The Tosks inhabiting Lower Albania, in the sandjaks of Avlona and Berat,
and the Tchames and Liaps of the sandjaks of Delvina and Joannina,
designate their country Tchamouria and Liapouria. These latter are
supposed to be direct descendants of ancient Hellenes, as they speak the
Greek language with greater purity than the rest; and certainly some of
their characteristic features bear a great resemblance to those of the
ancient Greeks. All the Albanians of Epirus use the Greek language, and
are more conversant with it than with Turkish, which in some places is
not spoken at all.

The Tosks are tall and well built, and extremely agile in all their
movements; their features are regular and intelligent, but like most
Albanians they have a fierce, cruel, and sometimes cunning cast of
countenance, and a swagger in their gait, by which they can easily be
distinguished from the other races, even when divested of their national
costume. They are of a warlike and ferocious disposition, yet they have
noble qualities which atone in some measure for their ferocity and
produce a very mixed impression of the national character. They are a
constant source of dread to strangers, but objects of implicit confidence
and trust to those who have gained their friendship and earned their
gratitude.

In bravery, trustworthiness, and honor, the Ghegs bear the palm. No
Gheg will scruple to “take to the road” if he is short of money and has
nothing better to do. If any man he may meet on the high-road disregards
his command, “_Des dour_” (stand still), he thinks nothing of cutting
his throat or settling him with a pistol-shot; but if a Gheg has once
tasted your bread and salt or owes you a debt of gratitude or is employed
in your service, all his terrible qualities vanish and he becomes the
most devoted, attached, and faithful of friends and servants. Generally
speaking, the Ghegs are abstemious and not much addicted to the vices of
Asiatics. Women are respected by them and seldom exposed to the attacks
of brigands or libertines.

These characteristics are so general and so deeply rooted in the
character of the Gheg that consuls, merchants, and others, who need brave
and faithful retainers, employ them in preference to men of any other
race.

I was once making a journey across country to a watering-place in Albania
and set out for this deserted and isolated spot with a capital escort;
accompanied moreover by a wealthy Christian dignitary of the town in
which I had been staying. During a short halt we made in a mountain gorge
to refresh ourselves with luncheon, near a ruined and deserted _beklemé_,
or guard-house, suddenly a fine but savage-looking Albanian appeared
before us. He was followed by several other sturdy fellows, all armed to
the teeth. My friend turned pale, and the escort, taking to their guns,
stood on the defensive.

But the feeling of fear soon vanished from my people, as the Albanians
approached them, and instead of uttering the dreaded “_Des dour!_”
gracefully put their hands on their breasts and repeated the much more
agreeable welcome word “_Merhaba!_” The band chatted with my men, whilst
their chieftain approached my travelling companion, and entered into
conversation with him, every now and then giving a glance at me with an
expression of wonder on his face. At last he inquired who I was, and
declared he was astonished at the independent spirit of the _Inglis_
lady, who, in spite of fatigue and danger, had ventured so far.

He willingly accepted our offer of luncheon; first dipping a piece of
bread in salt and eating it. My horse was then brought up; the chief
stood by, and gallantly held the stirrup while I mounted. I thanked him,
and we rode off at a gallop. After we had gone some distance on our road,
my friend heaved a deep sigh of relief, and said to me, “Do you know who
has been lunching with us, holding your stirrup, and assisting you to
mount? It is the fiercest and most terrible of Albanian brigand chiefs
in this neighborhood! For the last seven years he and his band have been
the terror of this kaza, in consequence of their robberies and murders,
respecting none but those of your sex,—guided, I presume, in this by
the superstition, or let us say point of honor, some Albanians strictly
observe, that it is cowardly and unlucky to attack women.”

An adventure that lately happened to a friend of mine will show the
manner in which Ghegs remember a good service rendered them. Some years
ago, a few Albanians, personally known to the gentleman in question,
who owns a large estate in Macedonia, heard that three of their
fellow-countrymen had got into trouble. Through the influence Mr. A.
possessed with the local authorities, their release was obtained. The
incident had almost passed out of his memory when it was unexpectedly
recalled at a critical moment. Some Albanian beys, who had a spite
against Mr. A., in consequence of a disputed portion of land, resolved
to take advantage of the present state of anarchy and disorder in the
country to have him or his son assassinated the next time either of
them should visit the estate. The villanous scheme was intrusted to a
band of Albanian brigands that were known to be lurking in the vicinity
of Mr. A.’s estate. At harvest-time, as he was about to start for the
country, he received a crumpled dirty little epistle, written in the
Greek-Albanian dialect, to this effect:—

    “_Much esteemed Effendi, and venerated benefactor_:

    “Some years ago your most humble servant and his companions
    were in difficulties. You saved them from prison and perhaps
    from the halter. The service has never been forgotten, and the
    debt we owe to you will be shortly redeemed by my informing
    you that the robber band of Albanians in the vicinity of your
    chiftlik have received instructions and have accepted the task
    of shooting you down the first time you come in this direction.
    I and my valiant men will be on the look-out to prevent the
    event if possible, but we warn you to be on your guard, for
    your life is in danger.

                 “Kissing your hand respectfully,

                             “I sign myself,

                                       “A MEMBER OF THE VERY BAND!”

Another friend related to me a strange adventure he had with an Albanian
ex-brigand, who for some time had been in his service. This gentleman was
a millionaire of the town of P., who in his younger days often collected
the tithes of his whole district, and consequently had occasion to travel
far into the interior and bring back with him large sums of money. During
these tours the faithful Albanian never failed to accompany his master.
On one occasion, however, when they had penetrated into the wildest
part of his jurisdiction, his servant walked into the room where he was
seated, and after making his _temenla_, or salute, said, “Chorbadji, I
shall leave you; therefore I have come to say to you _Allah ’semarladu_
(good-by).”

“Why,” said the astonished gentleman, “what is to become of me in this
outlandish place without you?”

“Oh,” was the response, “I leave you because I have consented to attack
and rob you, and as such an act would be cowardly and treacherous while
I eat your bread and salt, I give you notice that I mean to do it on the
highway as you return home, so take what precautions you like, that it
may be fair play between us.” This said, he made a second _temenla_ and
disappeared.

He was as good as his word; going back to his former profession, he
soon found out and joined a band of brigands, and at their head waylaid
and attacked his former master, who, well aware of the character of the
man he had to deal with and the dangers that awaited him, had taken
measures accordingly and provided himself with an escort strong enough to
overpower the brigands.

The Albanians before the Turkish conquest professed the Christian
religion, which, however, does not appear to have been very deeply rooted
in the hearts of the people; from time immemorial they were more famous
for their warlike propensities and adventurous exploits than for their
good principles.

After the conquest, Islam, finding a favorable soil in which to plant
itself, made considerable progress in some districts, where the
inhabitants willingly adopted it in order to escape persecution and
oppression. This progress, however, was not very extensive until the
time of the famous Iskander Beg, or Scanderbeg, who played so prominent
a _rôle_ in the history of his country, and whose desertion of the
Mohammedan and adoption of the Christian religion so exasperated Sultan
Murad that he forthwith ordered that most of the Christian churches
should be converted into mosques, and that all Epirots should be
circumcised under pain of death.

The second impulse Mohammedanism received in Albania was under the
rule of Ali Pasha, when whole villages were converted to Islam, though
their inhabitants to this day bear Christian names, and in some cases
the mother or wife is allowed to retain the faith of her fathers and
will keep her fasts and feasts and attend her Christian church while
her husband joins the Mussulman congregation. In those parts of Epirus,
however, where the Greek population was in the majority and its ignorant
though devout clergy had influence with the people, they held fast to
their religion as they did to their language.

The Mirdites were equally steadfast to their faith and purpose, and have
remained among the most faithful and devout followers of the Pope. The
number of Roman Catholic Mirdites is reckoned at about 140,000 souls,
scattered in the different districts of Albania. They have several
bishoprics, and their bishops and priests are sent from Rome or Scutari.
The Mirdites make fine soldiers, and have often been engaged by the
Porte as contingent troops, or employed in active service. They take
readily to commerce and agriculture, and on the whole may be considered
the most advanced and civilized of the Illyrian Albanians. They might,
however, progress much more rapidly if their pastors, to whose guidance
they submit themselves implicitly, would follow the example of the Greeks
in Epirus, and introduce a more liberal course of instruction; for the
education is at present very limited beyond the religious branches. There
can be no doubt that excessive religious teaching among ignorant people,
though a powerful preservative of the faith, tends inevitably to render
them narrow-minded, bigoted, and incapable of self-development.

The Mohammedanism of the Albanians is not very deeply rooted, nor does
it bear the stamp of the true faith. Followers of the Prophet in Lower
Albania especially may be heard to swear alternately by the _Panaghia_
(blessed Virgin) and the Prophet, without appearing disposed to follow
too closely the doctrines of either the Bible or the Koran. It is an
undoubted fact that the Moslems of Albania contrast very unfavorably with
the Christians.

The Tosks are held in ill-repute on account of the difficulty they seem
to experience in defining the difference between treachery and good
faith. They are clever and have made more progress than the Ghegs in the
civilization that Greece is endeavoring to infuse among her neighbors.
Some of their districts are worthy of mention, on account of the taste
for learning displayed by their inhabitants, the earnestness with which
they receive instruction, and the good results that have already crowned
their praiseworthy efforts.

Zagora, for instance, famous as having afforded shelter to many Greeks
after the conquest of Constantinople, is renowned for the intelligence
and general enlightenment of its inhabitants. The sterile and
unproductive soil induces the men to rely less upon the fruits of their
manual toil than upon their mental labor, consequently most of them
migrate to other countries, seeking their fortune. Some take to commerce,
others to professions, and after realizing a competence they return to
their native land and impart the more advanced ideas their experience has
given them to their compatriots who have not enjoyed the same privileges.

The women of Zagora are much esteemed for their virtues and
enlightenment. Such facts as these make a refreshing contrast to the
dark cloud of ignorance which, in spite of the pure sky of Albania and
the beauty of the scenery, still hangs thickly on the land, and casts a
shadow where Nature meant all to be sunshine.

The warlike instincts of the Albanian find more scope for action in
the Mohammedan than in the Christian religion. They gladly accept an
invitation to fight the battles of the Porte or those of any nation
that will pay them. This help must, however, be given in the way most
agreeable to themselves, _i.e._ as paid contingents under the command of
their own chieftains, to whom they show implicit obedience and fidelity.
Under the beloved banner of their Bey, legions will collect, equally
ready to do the irregular work of the Bashi-bazouks or to be placed in
the regular army.

But, as a rule, the Albanian objects to ordinary conscription, and avoids
it, if possible, by a direct refusal to be enrolled, or else makes his
escape. When on the road to the seat of war, a regiment of Albanians is
a terrible scourge to the country it passes through; like locusts, they
leave nothing but naked stalks and barren ground behind them.

The principal merits of the Albanian soldier are his rapidity of motion,
steady aim, carelessness of life, and hardy endurance in privation. An
Albanian’s gun is his companion and his means of subsistence in peace or
war. To it he looks for his daily bread more than to any other source,
and he uses it with a skill not easily matched.

When travelling in Upper Albania we halted one day in a field which
appeared quite uncultivated and waste, and were making arrangements for
our mid-day meal, when an Albanian _bekchi_ (forest-keeper) appeared on
the scene and ordered us to quit the spot, as it was cultivated ground.
Our escort remonstrated with the fellow, saying that it was the only
convenient place near for a halt, and that now we had alighted we should
remain where we were until we had finished our meal.

The Albanian, entirely regardless of the number of the escort and the
authority of government servants, became more persistent in his commands,
and the guards lost patience and threatened to arrest him and take him
before the Mudir of the town that lay a little further on. “The Mudir,”
scornfully repeated the mountaineer, “and who told you that I recognize
the authority of the Mudir?” Then taking his long gun from his shoulder,
he held it up and said, “This is my authority, and no other can influence
me or acquire any power over me!”

The social relations of the Albanians are limited to two ideas,
_Vendetta_ and _bessa_ (peace).

In cases of personal insult or offence the vendetta is settled on the
spot. Both parties stand up, the insulted full of indignation and
thirsting for revenge, the offender repentant, perhaps, or persistent.
The aggrieved person, even in the former case, seldom yields to
persuasion or softens into forgiveness; he draws a brace of pistols and
presents them to his antagonist to make his choice. The little fingers
of their left hands are linked together and they fire simultaneously.
A survivor is rare in such cases, and the feud thus caused between the
relatives of both parties is perpetuated from generation to generation.

It takes very little to provoke these terrible blood-feuds, and one or
two instances that have come under my direct notice will suffice to give
an idea of their nature and the violence with which real or fancied
insult is avenged.

One happened while I was at Uskup. The cause was nothing more weighty
than a contention between two Albanian sportsmen, who were disputing the
possession of a hare that each maintained he had shot. The dispute became
so violent that a duel was resorted to as the only way to settle it.
It came off on the common in the presence of the combatants’ relatives
and friends, who joined in the quarrel; and a general battle ensued, in
which the women fought side by side with their husbands and brothers.
A girl of seventeen, a sister of one of the two sportsmen, fought with
the courage of a heroine, and with a success worthy of a better cause.
Fourteen victims fell on that day. The Governor of Uskup, who related
the story to me, said that he despaired of ever seeing these savage
people yield to the influence of their more refined neighbors, or become
entirely submissive to the Sultan’s government. But great changes have
taken place since then with respect to their submission to the Porte. The
Government is now able almost safely to send governors and sub-governors
into Albania to collect taxes from such as choose to pay them, and even
draw a certain number of recruits from the most turbulent and independent
districts.

Another of these lamentable blood-feuds happened in Upper Dibra, and was
witnessed by one of my friends then living there.

It originated in two lads at the village fountain throwing stones and
breaking the pitcher of an Albanian girl who had come to fetch water.
This was considered an insult to her maidenhood and was at once made the
cause of a serious quarrel by the friends of the two parties. A fight
ensued in which no less than sixty people lost their lives. Women’s honor
is held in such high esteem in these wild regions that so trivial an
accident suffices to cause a terrible destruction of life.

Albanian women are generally armed, not for the purpose of
self-defence—no Albanian would attack a woman in his own country—but
rather that they may be able to join in the brawls of their male
relatives, and fight by their side. The respect entertained for women
accounts for a strange custom prevalent among Albanians—that of offering
to strangers who wish to traverse their country the escort of a woman.
Thus accompanied, the traveller may proceed with safety into the most
isolated regions without any chance of harm coming to him.

The Albanian women are lively and of an independent spirit, but utterly
unlettered. Very few of the Mohammedans in Lower Albania possess any
knowledge of reading or writing. They are, however, proud and dignified,
strict observers of the rules of national etiquette; and they attach
great importance to the antiquity of their families, and regulate their
marriages by the degrees of rank and lineage.

The natural beauty of the Albanian girl soon disappears after she has
entered upon the married state. She then begins to dye her hair, to which
nature has often given a golden hue, jet black; she besmears her face
with a pernicious white composition, blackens her teeth, and reddens
her hands with henna; the general effect of the process is to make her
ugly during youth, and absolutely hideous in old age. The paint they use
is not only most destructive to the complexion, but also to the teeth,
which decay rapidly from its use. I believe they blacken their teeth
artificially to hide its effects. On my inquiring the reason of this
strange custom of some Albanian ladies, they laughed at my disapproval of
it, and told me that in their opinion it was only the fangs of dogs that
should be white.

Both Christian and Mohammedan Albanians, dissatisfied with the poverty of
their country and their incapability of developing its natural resources
or profiting by them, often leave it and migrate to other parts of Turkey
in search of employment. Large numbers seek military service in Turkey,
Egypt, and other countries, or situations as guards, herdsmen, etc. Some
of the Christians study and become doctors, lawyers, or schoolmasters.
The lower classes are masons, carters, porters, servants, dairymen,
butchers, etc.; their wives and children seldom accompany them, but
remain at home to look after their belongings, and content themselves
with an occasional visit from the assiduous bread-winner.

All Albanians call themselves _Arkardash_ (brothers), and when away from
their homes will assist and maintain the _Kapoussis_, or new-comers,
until they obtain employment through the instrumentality of their
compatriots already established in the town. Thus assistance is given in
small towns to the _Kapoussis_ to defray the expenses of his maintenance
and lodging in the Khan. When he obtains a place, he repays the money in
small instalments until the debt is acquitted.

The Albanian, generally a gay, reckless fellow, is always short of money:
many among the better conditioned carry their fortune on their person in
the shape of rich embroideries on their handsome costumes and valuable
arms. In their belt is contained all the money they possess. When the
fortune-seeker has to wait a long time for the fickle goddess to smile
upon him, and the forbearance or generosity of his friends is exhausted,
and the _kemer_ becomes empty, he sells his fine arms, and the splendid
suit of clothes follows to the same fate. But the Albanian, though
externally transformed, will be by no means crushed in spirit or at all
less conceited in manner, even when a tattered rag has replaced the gaudy
fez, and a coarse _aba_ his _fustanella_ and embroidered jacket. With
shoes trodden down at heel he patiently lounges about under the name of
_Chiplak_ until the expected turn of fortune arrives. Should it be very
long in coming, our Albanian turns the tables upon the goddess, shoulders
his gun, and takes to the high-road.

The _bessa_, or truce, is the time Albanians allow themselves at
intervals to suspend their blood-feuds; it is arranged by mutual consent
between the contending parties, and is of fixed duration and strictly
observed: the bitterest enemies meet and converse in perfect harmony and
confidence.

The character of the Albanians is simply the mixed unhewn character of
a barbarous people; they have the rough vices but also the unthinking
virtues of semi-savage races. If they are not civilized enough not to
be cruel, at least civilization has not yet taught them its general
lesson that honor and chivalry are unpractical relics of Middle-Age
superstition, quite unworthy of the business-like man of to-day, whose
eyes are steadily fixed on the main chance. The Albanian, too, can
plunder, but he does it gun in hand and openly on the highway; not behind
a desk or on ’Change. His faults are the faults of an untrained violent
nature, they are never mean; his virtues are those of forgotten days, and
are not intended to pay. He is more often abused than praised, but it is
mostly for want of knowledge; for his faults are on the surface, whilst
his sterling good qualities are seen only by those who know him well, and
know how to treat him.

The ties that bind this nation to its rulers have never been those of
strict submission, or of sympathy. The Turkish government cannot easily
forget the troubles and loss of life the conquest of Albania occasioned,
nor can it feel satisfied with the manner in which imperial decrees are
received by the more turbulent portion of the inhabitants with regard
to the enrolment of troops and the payment of taxes; nor pass over the
insolence and even danger to which its officials are often exposed.

The Mohammedan Albanians on their side deeply resent the loss of their
liberty, and the forfeiture of their privileges, and reciprocate to the
full the ill feeling and abusive language of the Turks. The Turk calls
the Albanian _Haidout Arnaout!_ or _Tellak!_[2]

The Albanian regards the Turk as a doubtful friend and a corrupt and
impotent master; and if this antipathy exists between the Turks and the
Albanian Moslem, it is scarcely necessary to say that it is felt far
more strongly between the Turks and the Albanian Christians of Epirus
and the Mirdites, who, feeling doubly injured by the oppressive rule to
which they are forced to submit, and the loss of their freedom, ill-brook
the authority of the Porte. The Mirdite turns his looks and aspirations
towards the Slavs, while the Albanian hopes finally to share the liberty
of the Greek.

The Porte, under these circumstances, had a difficult mission to fulfil
in controlling this mixed multitude, and was not unjustified in looking
upon it with distrust and suspicion. It now seems probable, however, that
it may be relieved of the weight of this responsibility.




CHAPTER IV.

THE TURKS.

    Turkish Peasants—Decrease in Numbers—Taxation
    and Recruiting—Relations with the
    Christians—Appearance—Amusements—House and
    Family—Townspeople—Guilds—Moslems and Christians—The
    Turk as an Artisan—Objection to Innovations—Life in the
    Town—The Military Class—Government Officials—Pashas—Grand
    Vizirs—Receptions—A Turkish Lady’s Life—The Princes—The
    Sultan—Mahmoud—His Reforms—Abdul-Medjid—Abdul-Aziz—Character
    and Fate—Murad—Abdul-Hamid—Slavery in Turkey.


The Turkish peasants inhabiting the rural districts of Bulgaria,
Macedonia, Epirus, and Thessaly, although the best, most industrious,
and useful of the Sultan’s Mohammedan subjects, everywhere evince
signs of poverty, decrease in numbers, and general deterioration. This
fact is evident even to the mere traveller, from the wretchedness and
poverty-stricken appearance of Turkish villages, with their houses mostly
tumbling to pieces. The inhabitants, unable to resist the drain upon them
in time of war when the youngest and most vigorous men are taken away
for military service, often abandon their dwellings and retire to more
populous villages or towns: the property thus abandoned goes to ruin,
and the fields in the same manner become waste. This evil, which has
increased since the more regular enforcement of the conscription, may
be traced to three principal sources: the first is the unequal manner
in which the conscription laws are carried out upon this submissive
portion of the people; the second is the want of laborers, the inevitable
consequence of the recruiting system, whereby the best hands are drawn
away annually at the busiest and most profitable time of the year, to
the great and sometimes irreparable injury of industry; the third is the
irregular and often unjust manner in which the taxes are levied. Under
these unencouraging circumstances the disabled old men, the wild boys,
and the women (who are never trained to work and are consequently unfit
for it), are left behind to continue the labor of the conscripts, and
struggle on as well as indolent habits and natural incapacity for hard
work will allow them. The large villages will soon share the fate of
the small ones and be engulfed in the same ruin, unless radical changes
are introduced for the benefit of the Turkish peasants. Their condition
requires careful and continued attention at the hands of a good and
equitable administration.

The Turkish peasant is a good, quiet, and submissive subject, who refuses
neither to furnish his Sultan with troops nor to pay his taxes, so far
as in him lies; but he is poor, ignorant, helpless, and improvident to
an almost incredible degree. At the time of recruiting he will complain
bitterly of his hard lot, but go all the same to serve his time; he
groans under the heavy load of taxation, gets imprisoned, and is not
released until he manages to pay his dues.

He is generally discontented with his government, of which he openly
complains, and still more with its agents, with whom he is brought
into closer contact; but still the idea of rebelling against either,
giving any signs of disaffection, or attempting to resist the law, never
gets any hold upon him. His relations with his Christian neighbors
vary greatly with the locality and the personal character of both. In
some places Christian and Turkish peasants, in times of peace, live in
tolerable harmony, in others a continual warfare of complaints on one
side and acts of oppression on the other is kept up. The only means of
securing peace to both is to separate the two parties, and compel each to
rest solely upon its own exertions and resources, and to prove its worth
in the school of necessity. An English gentleman owning a large estate in
Macedonia used to assert that until the Christian peasant adopts a diet
of beer and beef, nothing will be made of him; in the same manner I think
that until the Turk is cured of his bad habit of employing by hook or by
crook Petcho and Yancho to do his work for him, he will never be able to
do it himself.

The Turkish peasant is well built and strong, and possesses extraordinary
power of endurance. His mode of living is simple, his habits sober;
unlike the Christians of his class he has no dance, no village feast, and
no music but a kind of drum or tambourine, to vary the monotony of his
life. His cup of coffee and his chibouk contain for him all the sweets of
existence. The coffee is taken before the labors of the day are begun,
and again in the evening at the _cafiné_. His work is often interrupted
in order to enjoy the chibouk, which he smokes crouched under a tree
or wall. His house is clean but badly built, cold in winter and hot in
summer, possessing little in the way of furniture but bedding, mats,
rugs, and kitchen utensils. He is worse clad than the Christian peasant,
and his wife and children still worse; yet the women are content with
their lot, and in their ignorance and helplessness do not try, like the
Christian women, to better their condition by their individual exertions;
they are irreproachable and honest in their conduct, and capable of
enduring great trials. Some are very pretty; they keep much at home,
the young girls seldom gather together for fun and enjoyment except at
a wedding or circumcision ceremony, when they sing and play together,
while the matrons gossip over their private affairs and those of their
neighbors. The girls are married young to peasants of their own or some
neighboring village. Polygamy is rare among Turkish peasants, and they do
not often indulge in the luxury of divorce.

On the whole the Turkish peasant, though not a model of virtue, is a good
sort of man, and would be much better if he had not the habit in times
of national trouble to take upon him the name of Bashi-Bazouk, and to
transform himself into a ruffian.

Turks, generally speaking, prefer town to country life; for in towns
they enjoy more frequent opportunities of indulging in that _dolce far
niente_ which has become an integral part of the Turkish character and
has entirely routed his original nomadic disposition.

The tradespeople of the towns are ranged into _esnafs_, or guilds, and
form separate corporations, some of which include Christians when they
happen to be engaged in the same pursuits. Thus there are the _esnafs_
of barbers, linen-drapers, greengrocers, grooms, etc. These bodies,
strange to say, in the midst of general disunion and disorganization, are
governed by fixed laws and regulations faithfully observed by Christians
and Turks alike, and the rival worshippers, bound only by the obligation
of good faith and honor towards each other, pull together much better and
show a greater regard for justice and impartiality than is evinced by
any other portion of the community. Every corporation elects one or two
chiefs, who regulate all disputes and settle any difficulties that may
arise among the members. These _Oustas_, or chiefs, are master-workmen in
their different trades. The apprentices are called _Chiraks_, and obtain
promotion, according to their ability, after a certain number of years.
When considered sufficiently advanced in their business, the master,
with the consent and approval of the corporation, admits them into the
fraternity, and gives them the choice of entering into partnership with
him or beginning business on their own account.

The grooms yearly elect a chief in each town, called _Seis Bashi_,
through whom, for a small fee, grooms may be obtained with greater
security than otherwise for their good behavior and capability. The
meetings, or _lonjas_, of this _esnaf_, are held pretty frequently in
coffee-houses, where the affairs of the corporation are regulated, and
the meeting generally terminates in an orgy; after which the grooms
retire to their stables, much the worse for the wine and _raki_ they have
drunk.

Once a year each of the associations gives a picnic, either on the
feast of the patron saint or at the promotion of an apprentice. On such
occasions a certain sum is collected from the members, or taken from
the reserve fund which some of the _esnafs_ possess, for the purchase
of all kinds of provisions needed for a substantial and sometimes even
sumptuous meal, to which not only all the members of the guild are
invited, irrespective of creed and nationality, but also all strangers
who may happen to pass the place where the feast is held. The amusements
include music and dancing for the Christians, and a variety of other
entertainments, always harmless and quite within the bounds of decorum,
and joined in with the spirit of joviality that characterizes these
gatherings; disputes are of rare occurrence, and the greatest harmony
is displayed throughout the day between Christian and Mussulman. When
the interests of the Mohammedans are closely connected with those of the
Christians, both willingly forego something of their usual intolerance
in order to further the cause of business. It is strange and regrettable
that this spirit of association among the lower orders should receive so
little encouragement from the Government and the higher classes.

Though the Mohammedans in certain localities and under such circumstances
as those I have mentioned are just in their dealings with the Christians,
and maintain a friendly feeling towards them; in others, especially in
inland towns, the growing prosperity of the Christians excites a bitter
feeling among their Turkish neighbors, who often offer open hostility and
inflict irreparable injury on their business and property. Many incidents
of this nature have come under my notice, and lead me to the conclusion
that the non-progressiveness of the Turks and the rapid decline of
their empire is partly due to the unfortunate and insurmountable
incongeniality existing between the Turks and Christians. The Turks, as
the dominant race, assumed total ascendancy over the Christians, got
into the habit of using them as tools who acted, worked, and thought for
them in an irresponsible fashion, and thus lost the power of doing for
themselves, together with the sense of seeing the necessity of dealing
with justice, generosity, and impartiality, which alone could have
guaranteed enterprise or secured confidence and sympathy between the two
classes. Unfortunately for the Turks this has brought about a state of
permanent antipathy between the two that can never be corrected; nor can
any reconciliation be arrived at unless these classes become entirely
independent of one another. Any arrangement short of this, as any person
well informed as to the actual relations of Turks and Christians, be they
Greeks or Bulgarians, will admit, must be of short duration, and before
long there could not fail to come a recurrence of outbreaks, revolutions,
and the usual atrocities that accompany disorder among these races.

The Turks, generally speaking, are not active or intelligent in business,
and do not venture much into speculation or commercial transactions of
any great importance. For example, one never hears of their undertaking
banking, or forming companies for the purpose of working mines,
making railways, or any other enterprise involving risk and requiring
intelligence, activity, system, and honesty to insure success. The first
reason for this strange neglect in a people who possess one of the finest
and most productive countries in the world is a naturally stagnant
and lethargic disposition; another is the want of the support of the
Government, which has never shown itself earnestly desirous of aiding
private enterprise or guaranteeing its success by affording disinterested
protection. Until very recent times no pains have been taken either by
individuals or by the Government to introduce those innovations and
improvements which the times demand. The consequence is that the Turkish
tradespeople gradually find the number of their customers decrease, while
the Greeks, Franks, and others successfully supply the public with the
new articles, or the old ones improved and better fashioned. To give an
instance of this I will repeat an incident related to me by a Turkish bey
of “La Jeune Turquie” as a lamentable proof of the non-progressiveness
of the masses. “When at Stamboul,” said he, “I had during some time to
pass by the shop of a Turkish basket-maker who, with two of his sons,
one grown up and the other a boy, might be seen working at the wicker
hampers and common baskets which have been used in the country from
time immemorial, but are now less used by reason of the superiority of
those brought from Europe or made in the school for mechanical arts in
Stamboul, an institution not much appreciated by the artisans who enjoy
the liberty of going themselves or sending their children to learn the
innovations in their different branches of industry. The basket-maker
and his sons were evidently a steady-going set, representing the honest
Turks of olden time, but seemed to be struggling for a livelihood.
Feeling an interest in them, I one day stopped and asked the old man what
he realized per diem by the sale of his baskets. He heaved a deep sigh,
glanced round his dismal shop, ornamented only with dust-covered baskets,
and said, ‘Very little, from three to six piastres (6_d._ to 1_s._); for
my business, once a thriving one, is now cast into the shade, and few
customers come to buy the old Turkish baskets.’ ‘Why then do you not give
it up and take to something else?’

“‘No, it did very well for my father, who at his death recommended me to
continue it and leave it to my sons and grandsons, who should also be
brought up to the trade. I have done so, but it is a hard struggle for
three of us to live by it.’

“I then suggested that one or more of his sons should learn the new
method of basket-making, which would improve his business at once.
This idea did not seem to be received favorably by the old man and the
eldest son; but the boy caught at it and asked if he could go and learn.
Encouraged by his evident willingness, I prevailed upon the father to
allow me to place his son in the Industrial School, where I hear he has
made certain progress in his art.” The Turkish mechanic has no power of
invention, and his work lacks finish; but he is capable of imitating with
some success any design shown to him.

The life led by the Turkish tradespeople is extremely monotonous and
brightened by no intellectual pleasures. The shopkeeper, on leaving
his house at dawn, goes to the coffee-house, takes his small cup of
coffee, smokes his pipe, chats with the _habitués_ of the place, and
then proceeds to his business, which is carried on with Oriental languor
throughout the day. At sunset he again resorts to the coffee-house to
take the same refreshment and enjoy the innovation of having a newspaper
read to him—a novelty now much appreciated by the lower classes. He then
returns to the bosom of his family in time for the evening meal. His
home is clean though very simple; his wife and daughters are ignorant
and never taught a trade by which they might earn anything. Embroidery,
indispensable in a number of useless articles that serve to figure in
the _trousseau_ of every Turkish girl, and latterly coarse needle and
crochet work, fill up part of the time, while the mothers attend to their
household affairs. The young children are sent to the elementary school,
and the boys either go to school or are apprenticed to some trade.

A considerable proportion of the Turks belong to the army. The officers,
however, unlike those of their class in Europe, do not enjoy the prestige
or rank to which the merits of the profession entitle them. It follows
that the individuality of the officer is not taken into account: if he
possesses any special ability, it is overlooked so long as superiority of
rank does not enforce it and obtain for him proper respect from soldiers
and civilians. A Turkish captain does not receive much more consideration
from his senior officer than does a common private; and in a moment of
anger his colonel or general may strike and use foul and abusive language
to him: a major is barely secure from such treatment. There are certainly
men of merit and education among the officers of the Turkish army,
whose behavior, like that of the soldiers, is much praised by those who
have had the opportunity of seeing the admirable manner in which they
conducted themselves in the late war. Unfortunately it is principally in
individual cases that this can be admitted, and it can by no means apply
to the whole body of officers.

When not in active service Turkish officers generally have their wives
and families in the towns in which they are stationed. The pay of an
officer under the rank of a general is very inadequate and is irregularly
received—a fact sadly evident in their neglected and disordered
appearance. With boots down at heel and coats minus half the buttons,
they may often be seen purchasing their own food in the market and
carrying it home in their hands.

The young officers who have pursued their studies in the military schools
present a marked contrast to these. They are well dressed and have an
air of smartness, and in military science they are said to be far more
advanced than those who have preceded them. The training they receive,
however, is by no means a perfect one, and much will be needed before the
Turkish officer can rise to a level with the European.

Their wives are women from the towns; as they generally follow their
husbands to the different stations allotted to them, they obtain some
knowledge of the world by travelling in various parts of the country, and
are conversable and pleasant to associate with.

The sons of all good and wealthy families in the capital are either
placed in the military schools or sent to the _Kalem_ (Chancellerie
d’État), where the majority of the upper class Turkish youth are
initiated into official routine and receive different grades as they
proceed, the highest rank accorded corresponding with that of _Serik_
(general of division). The officials who pass through this school are
generally more polished in manner, more liberal in their ideas, and
superior in many respects to the mean creatures who in former times were
intrusted with offices for which they were quite unfit. This practice of
appointing _Chiboukjis_ (pipe-bearers) and other persons of low origin
as _Mudirs_ (governors of large villages) and _Kaimakams_ (governors of
districts), is now less in force, and is limited to Governors-general,
who sometimes send their servants to occupy these positions. A Mudir
may become a Kaimakam, and a Kaimakam a Pasha, but the top ranks can be
obtained without passing through the lower grades. The inferior official
placed over each village is the _Mukhtar_. He may be Christian or Moslem,
according to the population; in mixed villages two are generally chosen
to represent the respective creeds. These functionaries are intrusted
with the administration of the village; they collect the taxes, and
adjust the differences that arise among the peasants. They are too
insignificant to do much good or much harm, unless they are very vicious.
The Mudirs are at the head of the administration of their villages and
of the medjliss or council, in which members chosen by the people take
part. _Mutessarifs_ are sub-governors of _Kazas_ or large districts, and
_Valis_, Governors-general of vilayets.

All this body of officials, together with the _Defterdars_ (treasurers),
_Mektebjis_ (secretaries of the Pashalik), _politico memours_ (political
agents), etc., taken as a whole, are seldom fitted for their posts: they
are ignorant and unscrupulous and much more bent upon securing their
personal interests than the welfare of their country.

It must, however, in justice be said that, owing to the large sums the
higher officials have to disburse in order to obtain their appointments,
the great expense entailed in frequently moving themselves and their
families from one extremity of the empire to the other, and the irregular
and meagre pay the minor officials receive, it is impossible for them to
live without resorting to some illicit means of increasing their incomes.
And it must be admitted that praiseworthy exceptions are to be found here
and there among both the higher and the lower officials.

The case is very simple. A man has to pay a vast sum of money to various
influential people in order to get a certain post. His pay is nothing
much to speak of. He is liable to be ejected by some one’s caprice at any
moment. If he is to repay his “election expenses” and collect a small
reserve fund, he must give up all idea of honesty. An honest official in
Turkey means a bankrupt. Under the system of favoritism and bribery no
course but that of corruption and extortion is open to the official. _Il
faut bien vivre_; and so long as the old system exists one must do in
Turkey as the rest of the Turks do. It is utterly corrupt; but it must be
reformed from the top downwards.

People in the East never think of asking what was the origin of pashas or
in what manner they have attained their high station. Genealogical trees
in Turkey are not cultivated; most of the old stems (as explained in Part
II., Chap. I.) were uprooted at the beginning of the present century;
their branches, lopped off and scattered in all directions, have in some
instances taken fresh root and started into a new existence; but they no
longer represent the strength of the ancient trunk. The important body
of beys, pashas, etc., thus abolished, had to be replaced by a new body
selected without much scrutiny from the crowd of adventurers who were
always awaiting some turn of fortune whereby they might be put into some
official position and mend their finances.

Yusbashi A., one of the chief leaders of the Bashi-Bazouks, who performed
the work of destruction at the beginning of the Bulgarian troubles,
was subsequently sent to Constantinople by the military authorities to
be hung; but being reprieved and pardoned, he was promoted to the rank
of Pasha. He had come, when a boy, to the town of T⸺ as an apprentice
in a miserable barber’s shop; later on he left his master and entered
the service of a native bey. During the Crimean war he joined the
Bashi-Bazouks, and when peace was made returned to the town with the rank
of captain and a certain amount of money, which he invested in land. By
extortion and oppression of every kind exercised upon his peasants, he
soon became a person of consequence in the town. Later on this man found
his way to the Konak, was appointed member of the council, and was placed
upon some commission by which he was enabled, through a series of illegal
proceedings, to double and triple his fortune at the expense of the
Government revenues. The misdeeds of this man and some of his associates
becoming too flagrant to be longer overlooked, the Porte sent a
commission to examine the Government _defters_ or accounts. The captain,
by no means frightened, but determined to avoid further trouble in the
matter, is said to have set fire to the Konak in several places, so that
all the documents that would have compromised him were destroyed and the
Pasha and commission who came to inspect his doings barely escaped with
their lives. Knowing the desperate character of the man they had to deal
with, they were alarmed, and unfeignedly glad to get away and hush the
matter up.

Thus the illustrious line of Pashas and Grand Vizirs, like the Kiprilis,
was put aside and replaced by a long list of nonentities who, with the
exception of a few such as Ali and Fuad Pashas, cannot be said to have
benefited their country in any remarkable degree, or to have shown any
special qualifications as statesmen.

The title of Grand Vizir, now nominally abolished, was one of the oldest
and the highest given to a civil functionary. His appointment, being
of a temporal nature, depended entirely upon the will of the Sultan,
who might at his pleasure load the Vizir with honors, or relieve him
of his head. This unpleasant uncertainty as to the future attached
to the Vizir’s office gradually almost disappeared as the Sultans
began to recognize the indispensable services rendered to them by
an able Grand Vizir. They began to appreciate the comfort of having
ministers to think for them, make laws, and scheme reforms in their
name; and this confidence, so agreeable to an indolent Sultan, and
so convenient to an irresponsible minister, was the ruling principle
of the constitution during the reign of Sultan Abdul-Medjid, who
was affable to his ministers, changed them less frequently than his
ancestors did, and loaded them indiscriminately with decorations
and gifts. Not so his wayward and capricious brother and successor
Abdul-Aziz, who scrupled not, on the slightest pretext, to dismiss his
Grand Vizir. A trifling change in his personal appearance, a divergence
of opinion, timidly expressed by the humble minister—who stood with
hands crossed, dervish-fashion, on his shoulders, in the attitude of an
obedient slave—just as much as a more serious fault, such as casting
difficulties in the way of his Imperial Majesty with regard to his
exorbitant demands on the treasury, were sufficient to seal the fate of
the daring _Sadrazam_. But in spite of the difficulties and drawbacks
and humiliations of the post, a Grand Vizir continued to be, after the
Sultan, the most influential person in the country. The gates of his
Konak were at once thrown open, and the other ministers and functionaries
flocked to pay their respects to him. The governors of districts
telegraphed their felicitations, while the ante-chamber and courts of his
house and office were rarely free from the presence of a regular army of
office-hunters, petitioners, dervishes, old women, and beggars, waiting
for an audience or a chance glimpse of the minister on his exit, when
each individual pressed forward to bring his or her claim to his notice.
_Pek aye, bakalum olour_,[3] were the words that generally dropped from
the mouths even of the least amiable Vizirs on such occasions—words of
hope that were eagerly caught by the interested parties, as well as by
the numerous _cortége_ of _kyatibs_, servants, and favorites of the
great man who, according to the importance of the affairs or the station
of the applicant, willingly undertook to be the advocate of the cause,
guaranteeing its success by the counter-guarantee of receiving the
_rushvets_ or bribes needed in all stages of the affair. This method of
transacting business, very general in Turkey, is called _hatir_, or by
favor; its extent is unlimited, and its application varied and undefined;
it can pardon the crime of murder, imprison an innocent person, liberate
a condemned criminal, take away the property of one minister to present
it to another, remove governors from their posts just as you change
places in a quadrille, or simply turn out one set, as in the cotillon,
to make room for another. Anything and everything can in fact be brought
about by this system, except a divorce when the plea is not brought by
the husband.

I have particularized the Grand Vizir as doing business in this way
merely because it was he who was more appealed to in this manner than
the other ministers, not because the others do not follow closely
in his steps. Their duties are extensive and important, and demand
for their proper and exact performance not only intelligence, but
also high educational qualifications, which, with rare exceptions,
Turkish officials do not possess—a capital defect, which, added to the
uncertainty of the period they are likely to remain in office, and the
systematic practice, pursued by each successive minister, of trying to
undo what his predecessor had done for the country, and of dismissing
most of the civil officials and provincial governors to replace them by
some from his own set, greatly contributes to increase maladministration,
and to create the disorder that has long prevailed in Turkey.

About honesty I need not speak, for no business of any kind is undertaken
without bribery; even if the minister should be above this, there are
plenty of people surrounding him who would not be so scrupulous. Kibrizli
Mehemet Pasha was one of the few high officials against whom no charge
of the kind could be brought, but his _Kavass-Bashi_ condescended to
take even so small a sum as five piastres as a bribe. This Pasha was a
thorough gentleman, high-minded both in his administrative affairs and
family life. After he lost his position as Grand Vizir, I had occasion
to see a great deal of him; he took the reverses of fortune with great
calmness and _sang-froid_; so do all Turks meet “the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune.”

The fall of a minister was generally rumored some time before it took
place, during which period he and those around him tried to make the
most of the opportunities left to them, while the opposition continued
their intrigues until the blow finally fell. When this happened the
_Sadrazam_ remained at home, the gates of his Konak were closed, and the
world, including his best friends, would pass without venturing to enter;
the only visitors would be his banker, doctor, and creditors, who in
prosperity and adversity never neglect this duty.

During the administration of a Grand Vizir, his harem was also called
upon to play its part and take the lead in the female society of
Stamboul. The _salon_ of the chief wife, like that of her husband,
would be thrown open, and crowds of visitors, including the wives
of the other ministers, would arrive to offer their respects and
felicitations, and demand favors and promotions for their sons or posts
for their husbands. All these visitors, on their arrival, were ushered
into the ante-chamber according to their respective stations, where
they took off their _feridjés_ and refreshed themselves with sweets,
coffee, sherbets, etc. The interval between this and their reception,
sometimes of several hours’ duration, was spent in conversation among
the visitors, in which some of the ladies of the household, or some
visitors staying in the house, would join, until they were requested
to proceed to the drawing-room. When the hostess appeared all would
rise from their seats, walk towards the door, make _temenlas_ and deep
obeisances, and endeavor to kiss her foot or the hem of her garment,
an act of homage which she would accept, but gracefully and with much
dignity try to prevent in those of high rank by saying _Istafourla_
(Excuse me—don’t do it). The conversation, started afresh, would depend
for subjects upon the disposition and tact of the mistress of the house;
but would chiefly consist in flattery and adulation, carried sometimes
to a ridiculous extent. The manner of the _hanoum effendi_ would be
smooth and friendly towards the partisans of her husband, curt towards
those of the opposition, but patronizing and protecting in its general
tone towards all. Should the Vizir’s lady be of the unprincipled type,
the conversation would bear a different _cachet_. I was told by some
distinguished Turkish ladies that when they paid a visit to the wife of a
short-lived Vizir, the lady, both old and ugly, entertained them with a
recital of the follies and weaknesses of her husband and exposed some of
her own not more select proceedings into the bargain.

The wife of a Grand Vizir also played a great part with regard to the
changes, appointments, and dismissions which followed each new Vizirate,
by the influence she exercised both over him and also in high quarters,
where she often found means to make herself as influential as at home.

I have often been asked what a Turkish lady does all day long? Does
she sleep or eat sugar-plums, and is she kept under lock and key by a
Blue-Beard of a husband, who allows her only the liberty of waiting upon
him? A Turkish lady is certainly shut up in a harem, and there can be no
doubt that she is at liberty to indulge in the above-mentioned luxuries,
should she feel so disposed; she has possibly, at times, to submit to
being locked up, but the key is applied to the outer gates, and is left
in the keeping of the friendly eunuch. Besides, woman is said to have a
will of her own, and “where there is a will there is a way” is a proverb
to which Turkish ladies are no strangers. I have seldom met with one who
did not make use of her liberty; in one sense she may not have so much
freedom as Englishwomen have, but in many others she possesses more.
In her home she is perfect mistress of her time and of her property,
which she can dispose of as she thinks proper. Should she have cause of
complaint against any one, she is allowed to be very open spoken, holds
her ground, and fights her own battles with astonishing coolness and
decision.

Turkish ladies appreciate to the full as much as their husbands the
virtues of the indispensable cup of coffee and cigarette; this is their
first item in the day’s programme. The _hanoums_ may next take a bath;
the young ladies wash at the _abtest_ hours; the slaves when they can
find time. The _hanoum_ will then attend to her husband’s wants, bring
him his pipe and coffee, his slippers and pelisse. While smoking he will
sit on the sofa, whilst his wife occupies a lower position near him, and
the slaves roll up the bedding from the floor. If the gentleman be a
government functionary the official bag will be brought in, and he will
look over his documents, examining some, affixing his seal to others,
saying a few words in the intervals to his wife, who always addresses
him in a ceremonious manner with great deference and respect. The
children will then trot in in their _gedjliks_ with the hair uncombed,
to be caressed, and ask for money with which to buy sweets and cakes.
The custom of giving pence to children daily is so prevalent that it is
practised even by the poor.

The children, after an irregular breakfast, are sent to school or
allowed to roam about the house; the _effendi_ proceeds to perform his
out-of-door toilet and leaves the _haremlik_, when the female portion of
the establishment, freed from the pleasure or obligation of attending to
his wants, begin the day’s occupation. If this should include any special
or unusual household work, such as preserve-making, washing or ironing,
or general house-cleaning, the lady, be she of the highest position, will
take part in it with the slaves. This is certainly not necessary, for
she has plenty of menials, but is done in order to fill up the day, many
hours of which necessarily hang heavily on her hands when not enlivened
by visiting or being visited. In the capital, however, less of this kind
of employment is indulged in by the fashionable _hanoums_, who are trying
to create a taste for European occupations by learning music, foreign
languages, and fine needlework. The time for dressing is irregular. A
lady may think proper to do her hair and make herself tidy for luncheon,
or she may remain in her _gedjlik_ and slippers all day. This fashion of
receiving visitors _en négligé_ is not considered at all peculiar unless
the visit has been announced beforehand.

Visiting and promenading, the principal amusements of Turkish ladies,
are both affairs of very great importance. Permission has previously to
be asked from the husband, who, if liberally disposed, freely grants
it; but if jealous and strict, he will disapprove of seeing his family
often out of doors. When a walk or drive is projected the children all
begin to clamor to go with their mother. Scarcely is this question
settled by coaxing or giving them money, than another arises as to which
of the slaves are to be allowed to go. Tears, prayers, and even little
quarrels and disturbances follow, until the mistress finally selects her
party. The details of the toilette are very numerous; the face has to
be blanched, then rouged, the eyebrows and lashes to be blackened with
_surmé_, and a variety of other little coquetries resorted to requiring
time and patience before the final adjustment of the _yashmak_ and
_feridgé_.

Then comes the scramble for places in the carriage, the _hanoums_
naturally seat themselves first, the rest squeeze themselves in, and sit
upon each other’s knees. It is wonderful to see how well they manage this
close packing, and how long they can endure the uncomfortable postures in
which they are fixed.

If the excursion is solely for visiting, the occupants of the carriages
make the best of the time and liberty by coquetting with the grooms and
_agas_ in attendance, should these be young and handsome, and sending
salaams to the passers-by, mingled with laughter and frolic. But when the
excursion has a picnic in prospective, or a long drive into the country,
the gayety and fun indulged in is bewildering; and the _hanoums_ can
only be compared to a flock of strange birds suddenly let loose from
their cages, not knowing what to make of their new freedom. Flirting,
smoking, eating fruits and sweets, walking about, running, or lounging
on the carpets they bring with them, varied by music and singing, fill
the day. They usually set out early and return before sunset in time
to receive their master on his visit to the harem before dinner. When
this meal is over, the company, comfortably dressed in their _négligé_
costume, indulge in coffee and cigarettes, and the events of the day are
discussed. The ladies then retire to rest at an early hour, and rise the
next day to go through the same routine.

At the foot of the imperial throne we see the princes, who, like children
at dessert, are to be seen, not heard. They now enjoy a degree of freedom
before unknown, and their wants and caprices are to a certain extent
satisfied by allowances from the Sultan. In childhood and youth they are
masters of their own time, and employ it as they please. On emerging
from boyhood they are furnished with harems; some more distantly related
to the reigning Sultan are allowed to have children; but the others
are denied that privilege. All these members of the imperial family
live a very secluded life. They are not allowed to take any part in the
administrative, hold commissions in the army or navy, or enter the civil
service. The only exception to this rule was the son of the late Sultan
Abdul-Aziz, who, at the age of ten, was, I believe, a captain in the
army, and a few years later was made a general. This is said to have
given the occasion for a reproach made to the prince by his father, who
at the moment of his deposition turned to him and said, “My son, I placed
you in the military school where you remained three years without making
a single friend; see what this has now led to!”

This reproach of being friendless addressed to any of the princes is
unjust, as they are not allowed to make friendships. Friends for a prince
mean a party, and a party means cabals and conspiracies, so all such
dangerous connections are carefully suppressed, and the prince, under the
influence of the suspicion and espionage by which he is surrounded, is as
little disposed to have any friends among the influential classes and men
of rank as they are to court his friendship or approach him too closely.
A personal friend of the ex-Sultan Murad told me that in early youth that
prince and he had been very much thrown together, and a sincere affection
had sprung up between them, which, however, on Sultan Abdul-Medjid’s
death, had to be entirely given up. Rare meetings between them could only
be arranged when the prince went to Pera on shopping expeditions. Thus
the Ottoman princes, spoilt in childhood, secluded from active public
life, are left to vegetate in their respective homes.

The Princes of the Blood and all relations of the late Sultan used always
to be cleared out of the way on the accession of a new Padishah; but the
custom has fallen into disuse since the time of Mahmoud II., who found it
necessary to order the strangulation of the deposed Sultan, the drowning
in sacks of 174 of his wives and odalisks, and also the decapitation of a
great number of other persons. This measure, considered needful to insure
the inviolability of his person, as the only remaining representative of
the house of Othman, soon put an end to the rebellion that had occasioned
his ascension to the throne. On the day of his proclamation as Sultan,
thirty-three heads were exposed at the gate of the Seraglio to bear
evidence to the fact. Rebellion, fire, and murder, it was said, could not
be otherwise put down than by counter-violence, and the extreme measures
adopted by the new sovereign ended in the restoration of order in the
capital.

Notwithstanding this black page in the history of Mahmoud, this Sultan,
to whom history has not yet done justice, was one of the best, most
enlightened, and powerful of Ottoman sovereigns.

Unlike most of his predecessors, he had not wasted the long years of
captivity in idleness and frivolous occupations, but had seriously
employed them in study. He originated the material changes that have
since been made in the life of seraglio inmates, and also endeavored to
better the condition of his Christian subjects. Whatever progress has
been made by the Turkish Mohammedans in the road of civilization must
also be attributed to his efforts. Amid wars without and revolts within,
the discontent of the Moslems at the attempted innovations, the clamoring
of the Christians for the amelioration of their condition, the Sultan
struggled on for thirty years with a perseverance worthy of the cause,
till death put an end to his work. He was succeeded by his son, the
liberal but weak-minded Abdul-Medjid.

The young Sultan was well imbued with the ideas of his father, but less
capable of carrying them out; yet he showed himself liberal and sincerely
desirous of improving the degraded condition into which the country had
fallen.

The security of life and property became greater under his rule.
Executions and confiscation of property became less frequent, and a
general change for the better in the material existence of the people
was decreed; but unfortunately the Sultan could not insure the carrying
out of his decrees. The exchequer, impoverished by the extravagance of
the palace and the corruption of the officials, was on the brink of
bankruptcy, which was only postponed by the foreign loans obtained in the
succeeding reign.

Had the Sultan’s perseverance in seeing these changes enforced been equal
to his good-will in ordaining them, Turkey might have been spared many of
its present miseries.

He was beloved by his subjects, who, in the midst of their misery,
forgave his weakness in remembering his gentleness and benevolence to
those who appealed to his mercy. His aversion to bloodshed was so great
that he was never known to decree a single execution. This was, of
course, a serious hindrance to carrying on the judicial arrangements
of the country. In cases of urgent necessity his signature had to be
obtained by subterfuge.

A lover of pleasure and ease, Abdul-Medjid, on coming to the throne, soon
plunged into that life of self-indulgence, luxury, and excess, which at
once began to tell upon his delicate constitution and by degrees affected
in a most fatal manner his moral and physical faculties; and he died of
exhaustion on June 25th, 1861.

His successor, Abdul-Aziz, had been the first to profit by the indulgence
and liberality of his brother, who from the beginning to the end of his
reign showed him genuine brotherly affection, allowed him uncontrolled
freedom as heir-apparent, and furnished him with a very liberal income,
making a point of never getting any object of value for himself, without
offering its equivalent to his brother.

Abdul-Aziz, however, did not make any good use of the liberty he enjoyed
before coming to the throne. Sensual, extravagant, and narrow-minded,
his occupations and pleasures were anything but imperial: his wasteful
habits were ruinous to his country, whilst his want of judgment and
foresight prevented his realizing the fatal effects of his conduct.
This may, however, be accounted for, to a great extent, by the fact
that he was subject at times to _merak_ (aberration of mind). From an
early age he began to give signs of that whimsical, suspicious, and
morose disposition which during the latter part of his reign became the
principal characteristic of his nature.

Unlike his brother, Abdul-Medjid, he was strongly built, and his personal
appearance was singularly unattractive. His tastes and amusements, very
much in harmony with his exterior, showed themselves in all kinds of
extravagant and odd fancies. Cock-fighting was a spectacle in which he
greatly delighted, by turns decorating or exiling the combatants.

In his moments of good-humor he often imposed a wrestling match upon his
ministers and favorites, at times taking an active part in the sport. The
celebrated Nevrez Pasha, half knave, half fool, who from the lowest stage
of seraglio functions had been raised to a ministerial position, was the
one generally chosen by the Sultan with whom to measure his strength.

The corpulent Pasha never failed to be the beaten party; the ludicrous
attitudes into which he fell and his jokes gave him a higher grade
whenever they were called into play, and caused him to say that every
kick he received from the imperial foot was worth to him a _Nishan_ (a
decoration), a konak, or a vizirlik.

It would, however, be unfair not to acknowledge in this Sultan some good
services rendered to his country.

One of these is the purchase of the fine fleet of iron-clads the Porte
now possesses; another, his untiring efforts in placing the army on the,
comparatively speaking, improved and high footing on which it stood at
the beginning of the war; and a third, the construction of the railways
now existing in the country. Some will perhaps reckon among his merits
the shrewdness he and his ministers displayed in accomplishing these
undertakings with funds that were not exactly theirs.

The details of the dethronement, short captivity and death of Sultan
Abdul-Aziz, though extremely curious and interesting, are as yet but
little known to the public. One of the ladies of his seraglio related
some of the incidents connected with these events to me, but she said,
“We cannot now divulge all, for fear of prejudicing the living, but
in course of time, when history reveals unknown facts, all doubts and
mystery on his untimely death will be removed.” Upon which she burst into
tears, and repeatedly uttered the Turkish exclamation of distress, “Aman!
Aman!”

She then recited to me in Arabic the verse which the unfortunate Sultan,
on entering his prison, traced on the dust that covered the table. The
following is a translation:—

    Man’s destiny is Allah’s will,
    Sceptres and power are His alone,
    My fate is written on my brow,
    Lowly I bend before His Throne.

Turning towards the window the Sultan noticed that one of his much-prized
iron-clads had been placed in front of the _Yahli_ which served as his
prison, with the guns pointed towards him. But a still more appalling
sight met his gaze. A sailor was seized by a few of his comrades, who,
pointing him out to the Sultan, passed a crimson _kushak_ or girdle
round his neck and led him three times round the deck, signifying to
the unfortunate captive that in three days he would undergo the same
operation. Pointing this out to the Validé Sultana, he exclaimed,
with emotion, “Mother! see to what use the force I have created for
the preservation and aggrandizement of my empire is applied! This is
evidently the death reserved for me.” A belt containing some of the most
valuable crown-jewels, which the Sultan had placed on his person when
leaving the palace, disappeared the day he was found dead, and has never
since been heard of. The Sultan had to ask for food repeatedly before he
was supplied with it, and even then what he obtained was given him on the
_sofra_ of a common soldier. On my further questioning this lady on the
cause of the Sultan’s untimely end, she passed her hand over her lips,
meaning they were sealed, and muttering a “_Turbé Istafourla_,” said, “It
is not in my power to reveal more!—the justification of the dead must be
withheld so long as it endangers the living. The duty of the devoted is
to keep silence until history can divulge secrets that will then harm
none.”

Soon after the death of Abdul-Aziz, I had occasion to discuss it with a
Turkish general. Expressing his opinion of the equally unfortunate Sultan
Murad, the Pasha, with smiling urbanity, said, “I cannot tell as yet; but
with us, Sultans are now so numerous, that we can afford to sweep them
away successively with a broom, if they do not suit us.”

Every one is acquainted with the quiet and peaceable manner in which
Sultan Abdul-Aziz was dethroned in 1876, to make room for his nephew
Murad. This unfortunate prince was as little acquainted with the changes
that were being planned as was his uncle, and his sensitive nature,
unprepared for the shock that placed him on the throne, caused him
to receive the messenger who came to inform him of the change in his
position more as the bearer of his sentence to death than the herald of
sovereignty. Taken by surprise at the moment he was about to retire,
the prince hastily put on his coat and met the vizir at the door of the
Mabeyn. Deathly pale, but calm and resigned, he looked in his face, and
said, “What is my offence, and whom have I ever harmed that I should thus
be doomed to an untimely death?”

Entirely ignorant of the conspiracy that opened a path for him to the
throne, and severely grieved for his uncle’s misfortunes, the news of
his tragical end is said to have given the first shock to the young
sovereign’s intellect, and, followed by the murder of the ministers, with
its equally distressing details, determined the bent of his vacillating
mind. One of the first symptoms of his insanity was a habit he fell
into of spanning with his hand the distance between the wrist and elbow
joint, striking the bend of the arm with his hand, then starting, and
reflecting. I have never heard of his having broken out into acts of
violence, except upon one occasion, when he raised a stick and struck
his brother-in-law. On one occasion he made his escape into the garden,
where he was found sitting on a marble slab, making grimaces at those
who approached him. He is said to have experienced some lucid intervals;
one of these chanced to be at the moment the salutes were being fired
on the occasion of his brother Abdul-Hamid’s ascension to the throne.
Looking at his son, a promising youth of fourteen, he said, “My boy, what
is the reason of this firing?” “Oh!” said the boy, wishing to spare his
father’s feelings, “it is the fête of a foreign monarch.” “No,” said the
unhappy monarch, “it is the proclamation of my own dethronement, and the
accession of thy uncle to the throne; God’s will be done!” Heaving a deep
sigh, he shed a few tears, and, happily for him, under the circumstances,
relapsed into his former state.

Sultan Murad was said to possess many of the virtues of his father, a
kind and gentle disposition, and intelligence and liberality of ideas.
During his short reign, the affability of his manners, and the desire
he showed to please all parties, irrespective of race or religion, and
to abolish the burdens that weighed upon them, had gained for him the
respect and affection of his subjects, which is evinced even to the
present day by sorrow and sympathy for his misfortunes.

The present Sultan at first declined the imperial throne, from feelings
of affection and delicacy towards his brother, and could only be
prevailed upon to accept it when all the physicians, called in for
advice, pronounced Murad’s case quite hopeless. Sultan Abdul-Hamid is
much esteemed and highly spoken of by persons who have had the honor
of conversing with his Imperial Majesty. He is, moreover, said to be
qualified for his position, being liberal in his ideas, and possessed
of many of the qualities of a good sovereign, and desirous of carrying
out the reforms that alone can insure the happiness of his people and
restore prosperity to the country. Unfortunately, he came to the throne
at a moment when the best and most gifted of sovereigns could do little
single-handed. When affairs are settled, much will naturally be expected
from him, which his friends and the well-wishers of Turkey feel confident
he will realize.

I have not yet mentioned an important section of the Turkish
community—the slaves. Slavery in Turkey is now reduced mainly to one
sex. Male slaves, except in the capacity of eunuchs, are now rare,
though every now and then a cargo of them is smuggled into some port
and privately disposed of, since the Government professes to share the
anti-slavery views of England. But female slavery is a necessary part of
the seraglio and of the Turkish harem system. The seraglio is of course
recruited from its numbers; and few Turks can afford to keep more than
one free wife. A second wife insists upon a separate establishment, and
causes endless jealousy to the first wife and trouble to the husband.
But a slave is no cause of jealousy, lives in the same house as the
wife, and costs much less to keep than a free woman. Female slaves,
too, are generally given by fathers to their sons, to avoid the expense
of a marriage; and daughters, on marrying, are always supplied with a
slave as lady’s-maid. Moreover, slaves are in much request as servants,
and do their work excellently, besides presenting many advantages and
conveniences that are not found in free women.

The condition of slaves in Turkey is not a hard one. The principle is of
course radically wrong, and the initial stage is full of cruelty. But the
women are not often ill-treated; and when an occasional case of violence
and ill-usage occurs, it excites general indignation among the Moslems.
A slave is entitled to her liberty after seven years of bondage, and
she generally gets it, and is dowered and married to a freeman, though
sometimes a bad master will evade the law by selling her before the seven
years have quite expired. But this is a rare case, and the slave system
in Turkey is, as a whole, a widely different thing from American slavery.

The only class who suffer much are the negresses. When they are freed
and married off it not seldom happens that from their native wildness
or other causes they quarrel with their husbands and are turned off to
earn their own living as best they may. Their condition then becomes very
wretched, and the quarter in which they live is a dismal group of rickety
houses, inhabited by a miserable and ragged set of women and children.
This is by no means the case with the Abyssinians or the half-castes,
who rank higher, and never have to appeal to public charity. But the
negresses are hardly worse off than the disabled slaves. If a woman of
this class by some accident or age becomes unfit for work, she is looked
upon as a burden and very badly cared for.

Turkish slavery is not so bad as it might be: the system is softened by
many humane laws, and is marked by a kindly paternal character. Yet it is
a blot on the country, and so soon as the harem system and polygamy can
be got rid of, it too must go.




CHAPTER V.

THE ARMENIANS AND JEWS IN TURKEY.

    Historical Misfortunes of the Armenians—Refugees in
    Turkey, Russia, Persia—Want of Patriotism—Appearance and
    Character—Armenian Ladies—American Mission Work—Schools—The
    Jews of Turkey—Reputed Origin—Classes—Conservatives and
    Progressives—Jewish Trade—Prejudice against Jews—Alliance with
    Moslems—Wealth and Indigence—Cause of the Latter—The Jewish
    Quarter—Education—“L’Alliance Israélite”—Divorce among the Jews
    merely a Question of the Highest Bidder.


There are few nations that can compete with the Armenians in historical
misery. Tossed about between Arsacid, Roman, and Sassanian; fought over
by Persian and Byzantine; a common prey to Arabs, Mongols, and Turk, it
is a matter for amazement that the nation still exists at all. Up to the
fourteenth century the Armenians held persistently to their country; but
after its subjection by the Mamluk Sultans of Egypt, the unfortunate
inhabitants, seeing no hope of the restoration of their old independence,
and despairing of relief from the oppression and spoiling to which they
had been exposed for centuries, began to migrate to other countries, to
try whether fortune would everywhere be so unkind to them. Some went to
Anatolia, others to Egypt, or to Constantinople, where they were kindly
received and allowed a Patriarch. Some wandered into Poland, whence
they were soon driven out by the determined hostility of the Jesuits,
and forced to take refuge in Russia, where they were joined by numbers
of their compatriots and formed a colony at Grigoripol. Others went to
the Crimea and Astrachan, and many of the Armenians who had first gone
to Turkey followed in their steps. The Armenians in Russia were treated
with great kindness by Peter the Great and Catherine, and were granted
special rights and privileges. A colony of Armenians was settled at New
Nakhitchevan on the Don. After more persecutions from the Ottomans,
in the sixteenth century, a large number of Armenian refugees set out
for Persia. The Shah received them graciously, and settled them in
Ispahan. Afterwards, during the war between the Shah and the Sultan, a
depopulation of Armenia was attempted, with the view of destroying the
Turkish power there. Twelve thousand families were dragged off to Persia,
most of whom died on the way. The settlers at Ispahan were at first
treated well, but afterwards subjected to such persecution that they
were obliged to seek a home in other lands. The portion of Armenia ceded
by Persia to Russia, thus acquiring for the first time the necessary
conditions of peace and safety, became the refuge of the Armenians who
had not already left their native land, but who now, driven beyond
endurance by the oppressive rule of the Pashas, crossed the frontier and
immediately found themselves possessed of the ordinary privileges of
Russian subjects, and able to carry on commercial pursuits, in which the
nation excels, in peace and confidence. Thus the Armenian race became
scattered over the face of the earth, whilst only a remnant still lives
in the land of its ancestors. The Armenians are to be met with all over
the East. There are large numbers of them at Constantinople and a few
other towns, such as Adrianople, Gallipoli, and Rodosto. In the towns of
the interior, however, their number is small.

Ages of Asiatic oppression, varied by few glimpses of prosperity, in
the traditional garden of Eden, have obliterated whatever love the
Armenians formerly had for their country, which they willingly deserted
to seek a home wherever they could find one. When the first cravings of
their hearts for peace and security had been satisfied, they settled
down in communities, forgot their country and its past history, and
assimilated their external forms and customs with those of the nations
among whom they lived, with the philosophic _nonchalance_ of the Asiatic.
In Armenia, the people who remain, remembering the terrible sufferings
their country has gone through, have followed the wise policy of burying
in the depths of their hearts any surviving sparks of patriotism or
love of liberty; though these hidden sparks may some day be fanned into
flame by the introduction of education and by the influence Russia is
exerting in the country. So far the Porte may felicitate itself on the
success its foreign policy has met with in Armenia. This policy, with its
consequences of misery and suffering, is safe only so long as ignorance
and stupid docility prevail among the masses; this cannot last forever,
and in the face of present events it will not be surprising to hear of
troubles breaking out in that direction as well as everywhere else.
It is only a question of time. In Turkey, political feeling among the
Armenians is still in its infancy; but there must be thinking men among
the educated young generation who are watchful of the present and hopeful
for the future.

The Armenians as a race are strong, well built, and hardy. With these
constitutional advantages they readily take to the mechanical arts;
but commerce and banking are their _forte_, and in these they show
great ability and as much honesty as is possible in a country where,
of all difficulties, that of following a straight line of conduct is
the greatest. They are considered crafty, but at the same time exercise
considerable moral influence in the countries they inhabit, especially
at Constantinople, where some of the rich Armenians have been very
closely connected with the high dignities of the empire. Their fancy for
toad-eating is well adapted to please the Turks, who by turns show them
regard and contempt. There is an old saying, that no Turk can be happy in
the evening without having cracked a few jokes with an Armenian during
the day.

The physiognomy of the Armenians is generally dark. Their heads are
large, with black, coarse, and abundant hair. Their eyes, overshadowed
by long eyelashes and thick eyebrows, meeting over the nose, are black
and almond-shaped, but lack the lustre of Greek eyes. The nose, the worst
feature of the Armenian face, is large and hooked; the mouth large,
with thick lips; the chin prominent. Their bearing would be dignified
but for a certain want of grace. Armenians are divided into two classes
denominated _Kalun_ and _Injé_, or coarse and refined. The latter belong
to the Roman Catholic creed, and are certainly more advanced than the
former, who are far more subservient to the Turks, and keep as much as
possible in the background, devoting themselves to the interests of the
Porte in general and to their own in particular.

In Armenia the ladies are secluded to the extent of dining and sitting
apart from the men, and are said to be very backward in every respect.
Their costume very nearly resembles that formerly worn by Turkish
women. They display the same disregard to neatness as the latter,
without possessing their redeeming point of cleanliness: their heads
are specially neglected, and abound in live stock of a most migratory
character. My mother once pointed out one of these creatures on the
forehead of an Armenian girl, and reprimanded her for her neglect of her
person; the girl answered that she did not know that any human being
could exist without them!

The Armenian ladies of Constantinople are renowned for their beauty,
which is supposed to lie particularly in the languid expression of their
eyes. Both in Constantinople and Smyrna there are many Armenians of
both sexes who are well educated, and scarcely to be distinguished from
Europeans in society. I was once invited to an Armenian fancy ball, where
I was the only European present. Everything was arranged as in civilized
society, the stewards were equal to their duties, and the costumes
were _recherchés_ and varied. One slight pretty girl, in particular,
dressed in the old Turkish costume, produced a great sensation, and was
deservingly besieged by partners, for she waltzed to perfection. Many
of the ladies and gentlemen spoke English, and nearly all French, and I
certainly spent a very pleasant evening among them.

In the privacy of their homes the women, as a rule, are untidy and
slatternly. They are exceedingly fond of dress, and, to the best of
their ability, copy the Parisian fashions; but their natural want of
taste seldom fails to make itself evident in toilettes of glaring and
ill-assorted colors, while their hands, arms, and necks are overloaded
with jewelry. Out of doors they are shod with boots of Parisian
manufacture, on whose high heels they totter along the badly-paved
streets; but they exchange them for slippers down at heel on re-entering
their homes. Even those who have lived in Europe, and no longer consider
themselves Orientals, sit cross-legged on their sofas in the most
careless costumes.

The Armenians have advanced but a very little way on the road of
education. The most enlightened are certainly those in British India,
whilst those of them who are Russian subjects have of late considerably
improved. Hitherto, the nation has never had a fair chance, but that
it has the possibility of progress in it is shown by the fact that no
sooner are the Armenians placed under a firm and wise government than
they at once begin to go forwards, in every respect. The progress of the
inhabitants of Russian Armenia has begun to work a political revival
among their brethren under Turkish rule. A wish for instruction is
everywhere beginning to be shown, and it has received a strong and most
salutary impulse from the numerous American missionaries now established
throughout Armenia. The untiring efforts of these praiseworthy and
accomplished workers in the cause of civilization and humanity are
beginning to bear fruit, especially since education has become one of
their principal objects. They are working wonders among the uncultivated
inhabitants of this hitherto unhappy country, where mission-schools,
founded in all directions, are doing the double service of instructing
the people by their enlightened moral and religious teaching, and of
stimulating among the wealthy a spirit of rivalry, which leads them to
see their own ignorance and superstitious debasement, and raises a desire
to do for themselves, by the establishment of Armenian schools, what
American philanthropy has so nobly begun to do for them.

The moral influence that America is now exercising in the East through
the quiet but dignified and determined policy of its Legation at
Constantinople, curiously free from political intrigues and rivalry,
is daily increasing, and has the most salutary effect on the country.
It watches with a jealous care over the rights and safety of the
missionaries, who are loved and respected wherever they settle, and make
their influence felt in the remotest corners of Turkey. Next to Greece,
whose educational efforts are naturally greater throughout the country,
it is America that will be entitled to the gratitude of the Christians
for her ready aid in elevating the ignorant masses to the dignity of
civilized beings.

In the Armenian schools, the Turkish, Armenian, and French languages
are taught; the two former are generally well mastered by the pupils,
Armenians being considered apt linguists; a very fair knowledge of French
is also common among them.

Armenians do not show any taste for the arts and sciences. One seldom
hears of an Armenian artist, doctor, or lawyer, and the few that do exist
attain only mediocrity.

It is difficult to obtain correct statistical information of native
Armenian schools, but I can affirm that of late years they have greatly
increased in number, and are much improved in their organization and
mode of teaching. At Constantinople, Erzeroum, and many other towns
where the Armenian communities are large, excellent schools for girls
have been founded. In towns where these are wanting, many girls are
sent for a few years to the boys’ schools, where religion, reading, and
writing are taught them. Turkish, the language with which the Armenians
are most conversant, is also taught from books written in the Armenian
characters. In all other respects, the education of Armenian girls is
very much neglected; from an early age they fall into a listless, aimless
existence, and are seldom taught to busy themselves with needlework
or any useful or rational employment. Some of the wealthy families at
Constantinople and Smyrna are manifesting a desire for improvement in
this respect, by engaging European governesses or sending their children
to European schools; but it will be long before either sex gets rid of
the ignorance and indolence which circumstances, perhaps, as much as
nature, have forced upon it.

The Jews dwelling in Turkey are, to a great extent, descendants of
those expelled from Spain by the Inquisition and the edict of 1492;
their language is a corrupt Spanish dialect; but they are conversant
with those of the places they inhabit. Besides these and other native
Jews, there is an influential class of European Jews who are certainly
in the van of progress among their co-religionists in Turkey. They are
educated, liberal-minded men, and, as a rule, a prosperous class. They
are untiring in their efforts to develop education among the native Jews
by establishing schools, assisting the poor, and setting a good example
of conduct by their own higher manner of life.

The native Jews may be divided into two classes, Conservative and
Progressive. The Conservative Jews are strict, rigid, and intolerant to
their brethren: they keep aloof from the rest of the world, and mix with
it only in business transactions. They are cunning and avaricious, and
although some possess large fortunes, they are seldom known to use them
for the benefit of the community, or for any other good purpose. Strongly
opposed to liberal education, the influence they exercise over their
respective communities is always employed to counteract the action of the
enlightened party. The Progressive Jews, who are becoming pretty numerous
among the upper classes, act in direct opposition to these principles and
endeavor as much as possible to shake off old customs and traditions.

The chief occupations of the Jewish community are banking and commerce.
They excel in both to such a degree that where a man belonging to another
nationality can only realize a fair competence, the Israelite makes a
fortune; whilst in positions in which other men would starve, the Jew
will manage to keep himself and family in comfort. The secret of this
well-known fact lies in the unusual finesse and ability displayed by
Israelites occupying high positions in the business world, and the
cunning and ingenuity of the lower orders, who with moderate exertion
make the most of their trade, and extort all they can from those with
whom they have dealings.

With regard to moral and personal qualifications, the Jews of Turkey
are the most backward and debased of any of the races. This degenerate
condition may be attributed to more than one cause. One of the chief
causes, however, is the general feeling of antipathy shown towards Jews
in a semi-civilized country: all kinds of real and fictitious sins are
attributed to them, from the charge of kidnapping children (an absurdity
still credited everywhere in Turkey) to the proverbial accusation
of never transacting business with members of other creeds without
infringing the laws of good faith and honesty. To apply this latter
charge to the whole community would be unjust, for there are honest,
liberal, and straightforward men; but there is no doubt the reputation is
not altogether ill-earned among them.

The Jews in Turkey have from all times shown a greater liking for their
Moslem neighbors than for the Christians. The Moslems sneer at them
and treat them with disrespect as a nation, but are far more tolerant
and lenient towards them than towards the Christians. The Jews, on
their side, although at heart feeling no disposition to respect their
Mohammedan masters, show great sympathy outwardly for them; and in case
of a dispute between Christians and Mohammedans, unanimously espouse the
cause of the latter. The wealthy Israelites would render every assistance
in their power to remove the difficulties of the Government, while those
of humbler standing tender their service for the performance of anything
that may be required of them, however degrading.

In few countries is the contrast of wealth and indigence among the Jews
so striking as in Turkey. On one side may be seen wealth so great as
to command respect for its possessors, and give them an influence in
the localities in which they spring up greater than that of all other
nationalities; whilst hard by one sees poverty and wretchedness of the
most sickening nature. The principal cause of this is the limited sphere
of action allotted to, or rather adopted by, the Jewish communities.
They evince a strong repugnance to going beyond the few trades generally
practised by the laboring classes; the rest content themselves with
performing the coarsest and dirtiest work of the town. From generation
to generation the Jews will cling to these callings without allowing
themselves to be tempted beyond them, or raising themselves in the social
scale by taking to agricultural or other pursuits that might insure them
a comfortable home and an honorable living.

In towns where the Jewish element predominates, it is packed in dingy,
crowded quarters, in hovels, buried in filth. These miserable abodes
contrast strongly with the fine and showy houses of the rich. Both
rich and poor of the native Jews may be seen in their court-yards or
at their doors, the mother rocking the cradle, the children playing in
the mud, and the women and girls washing or engaged in other household
occupations. The men on coming home don their _négligé_ in-door costume
and join the family party, lounging on a sofa, smoking and chatting. This
community is very noisy, the most natural conversation among them being
carried on in the loud tones of lively dispute, all talking at once in
such an elevated key as to be heard at a considerable distance.

They are certainly lively and cheerful, neither want nor poverty
detaining them at recreation-time from listening to their discordant
national music, which they accompany by a vocal performance of a
deafening nature.

Some of the women are very pretty, and their beauty is heightened by
their peculiar costume and gay head-dress. They are, however, cold and
rather graceless in demeanor, and are not noted for intelligence.

Education among the native Jews was completely neglected until very
recently, when the efforts of the European Jews and a few of the liberal
natives finally produced a beneficial reaction, and schools of a superior
order, principally dependencies of “L’Alliance Israélite” formed in
Europe for the benefit of the Eastern Jews, have been established in all
the principal towns, and are said to have greatly benefited the rising
generation, which is wanting neither in intelligence nor aptitude for
study. Before the establishment of these schools the Jews had to send
their children to European or Greek schools, where they received an
indifferent style of education, as the training, owing to the difference
of religion and habits, did not include the complete course.

The director of the schools established by “L’Alliance Israélite” gave me
most satisfactory accounts of the progress made by the pupils attending
them, and of the increase of morality among them. The Jewish girls
have not equal advantages with the boys with respect to educational
establishments. This unfortunate difference will, it is hoped, be in time
remedied by the schools, founded by the same society and others, in the
principal towns. All these schools owe their origin to the generosity
of wealthy Israelites like Baron Hirsh and others, who have endowed the
establishments with the funds necessary for rendering them useful and of
lasting duration. In Salonika the girls’ school, established some years
ago, has, thanks to the able management and munificence of the Messrs.
Allatini, been placed upon an excellent footing, and, being presided over
by the most intelligent and gifted European ladies of the community, is
doing great and good service.

Besides these schools, there is one of older standing connected with the
Missionary Society, under the direction of a missionary and three able
and devoted Scottish ladies, who receive a large class of day pupils and
give them the benefit of sound education for a trifling fee. This part
of missionary work is in reality the best and most beneficial to the
community, and far more so than the efforts made at proselytism—efforts
which, so far as I can ascertain, have nowhere met with success.

Polygamy is prohibited among the Jews; but their divorce laws are very
lenient; and a separation is the easiest thing in the world—for the
husband. A wife cannot get a separation without her husband’s consent.
Practically, however, this is seldom refused if a sum of money is
offered. A gentleman, aware of this Jewish weakness, and falling in love
with a Syrian beauty who was married to a Jew, bought her divorce for
2,000_l._ In some towns the morality of the community is closely watched.
In Adrianople, for instance, a faithless wife is led for three successive
days round the Jewish quarter, and compelled to stop before every door to
be spat upon and abused. At Salonika, where the Jews are very numerous,
it is quite otherwise. Among the wealthy and liberal many of the old
customs have been set aside, intermarriage with European Jewish families
is of frequent occurrence, and many modifications permitted which do not
seem strictly conformed to the Mosaic law.

The affairs of the Jewish communities, like those of the Christians, are
managed by elders. The chief Rabbi has control over all matters regarding
the religious and social interests, and is in direct communication with
his superior at Constantinople.




CHAPTER VI.

THE CIRCASSIANS, TATARS, AND GYPSIES OF TURKEY.

    _The Circassians._—Their Immigration into Turkey
    in 1864—Their Camp—Chiefs and Slaves—Origin of
    the Charge of Cannibalism—Assistance of the
    Government and the Peasantry—Bulgarian Views of
    the New-comers—A Cherkess Girl—Sale of Circassian
    Women—Depredations—Cattle-lifting—Circassian Fellow-travellers
    in a Steamer—Appearance and Character—Scheme of Philanthropy
    respectfully offered to Russia.

    _The Tatars._—Their Arrival in the Dobrudcha with a Good
    Character, which they have since maintained—Their Excellent
    Qualities as Artisans—Religion—Women—Dirtiness—Tallow their
    Specialty—Rivalry of Jewish and Tatar Hawkers.

    _The Gypsies._—Legend of the Origin of the Name
    Chenguin—Abhorrence of them by the Turks—Religion and
    Superstitious Customs—Nomad Life—Two Classes—Physical
    Characteristics—Reported Witches—Indiscriminate Pilfering—A
    Case of Horse-stealing—Gypsy Cunning in the Market—Gypsy
    Avocations—Character—Gypsy Soldiers—Town Gypsies—Agricultural
    Gypsies.


In 1864 Russia, the present champion of the subject races of Turkey, was
busy in her own vast dominions giving the _coup de grâce_ to the unruly
and only half-subjugated Circassians. These people, during a period of
eighty years, resisted Russian aggression, defending their homes and
liberties at the point of the sword, until the consequences of war,
famine, and misery compelled them to yield to the superior power of the
Czar. They were offered the choice of migrating to the lower steppes of
that land, where Russian discipline alone could tame them, or of quitting
the country. Some accepted the former alternative, while a large portion,
consisting of about 300,000 souls, preferred to accept the hospitality of
Turkey. Before leaving the shores of their beloved native land, collected
on the beach like a herd of wild animals caught in a storm, they raised
their voices and cried aloud against the injustice and cruelty they, with
their wives and children, had received at the hands of the Muscovites.
That voice reached Turkey, who, whatever her sins are, has never been
known to refuse shelter and assistance to the homeless and the refugee. A
proof of this may be found in the harbor offered within my recollection
to the exiled Prince of Persia, Kouli Mirza, subsequently a pensioner
of Great Britain; the famous Syrian chieftain, the Emir Beshir and his
party; the Polish, Wallachian, and Hungarian refugees, and Abdul Kadir;
the Algerine captive chief, who obtained permission from Napoleon to
reside in Turkey. All these with their followers were received with
hospitality, treated with kindness, and, in some cases, allowed pensions
while they remained in the country.

This gift of Russia to Turkey was, as far as the female portion of it was
concerned, as irresistible as the beauteous Pandora is said to have been
to Epimetheus; and the Circassian ladies certainly brought with them the
equivalent for Pandora’s famous box, in the shape of their kith and kin,
who dispersed themselves all over the country, and, from that moment,
have never ceased to do mischief, and justify Russia’s treatment of them.
I have had opportunities of seeing these people since their arrival in
Turkey, of watching them in the different stages through which they have
passed, and noting the irreparable harm they have done to the country
that offered them an asylum. On landing, about 2000 were quartered in a
little wood. Emaciated by the long sufferings of the journey, covered
with vermin, and half famished, they encamped on the damp soil in the
early spring, some sheltering themselves under the trees, others under
such tattered tents as they possessed, all closely packed together, the
sick lying face to face with the dead, and the living moving, gaunt and
ghostlike, among them, careless of everything except, getting money. As
we neared the infected camp, bands of men and women came forward, holding
their children by the hand and offering to sell them to any who would
buy. The little wretches themselves seemed anxious to be separated from
their unnatural parents, in the hope of getting food and better shelter.
These Circassians were divided into two classes, the chieftains and the
slaves. Each regarded the other with distrust; the one expecting from
his slave the abject obedience he had been accustomed to receive in his
native land; the other, aware of the change in his condition, ready to
dispute this right with his former master.

Rations and clothes were distributed by the Turkish authorities, but the
master took his slave’s portion and sold it for profit. The slave, on
his side, stole what he could, and stripped even the dead of his last
covering, leaving the corpse to be devoured by dogs. The sight of these
bodies by the townspeople and others originated the idea that these
people were cannibals, and this reputation preceding the Circassians,
on their march further into the country, caused a panic on their route.
Children ran away on their approach, and even the peasants themselves,
instinctively aware of the pernicious nature of the element introduced
among them, did their best to avoid giving them offence in refusing
assistance.

The majority of the Circassians distributed in European Turkey are
settled in the Dobrudcha; the rest were allotted patches of ground in
all parts of Bulgaria and in other provinces, where the peasants were
called upon to supplement the Government in providing them with cattle,
grain, and all other requisites necessary to start them as settlers. The
Bulgarian peasants stoically made it a point of duty to render every
assistance in their power to the destitute and helpless creatures so
strangely brought among them, and Circassian settlements soon started up
like weeds by the side of the peaceful and thriving villages.

Four years later I had again occasion to pass through these settlements,
and was much surprised at the transformation in the appearance of the
Circassians. The men, dressed in their picturesque costume, wearing their
arms, some of which were curious and rich pieces of Eastern workmanship,
were lazily lounging about the commons of their villages; while the
women, arrayed in their dress of red silk braided with gold, presided
over their household duties. Some well-conditioned cattle, driven by
Circassian youths, were grazing in the surrounding meadows. I stopped
at a Bulgarian village opposite one of these settlements. It was a
_prasnik_, or feast-day, and the Bulgarian youth and beauty, dressed in
their best, were dancing the _hora_. As our party approached, the dance
stopped, and the women, saluting me with a cheerful smile, regarded me
with great curiosity. The headman of the village came forward, and,
with a hearty welcome, offered me hospitality for the night. I had a
long and interesting conversation with him and the elders of the little
community upon the Circassian settlements. The Bulgarian peasants even
at that early date had a long list of grievances against their new
neighbors. Pointing to the opposite village, they assured me that its
very foundation and prosperity was due to Bulgarian labor and money.
“The Circassians,” said they, “lounge about the whole day, as you see
them doing now. Their industry does not extend beyond the sowing of
a few bushels of millet for the use of their families. Their cattle,
as well as most of their belongings, are not for work, but are stolen
property that they are freely allowed to appropriate to themselves to the
prejudice of the peasants.” The poor men seemed much concerned at this
new evil that had befallen them. “We never get redress for the wrongs
done by our neighbors,” said they; “and if the Government functionaries
continue to disregard our complaints, and to allow the depredations of
these marauders to go unpunished as they have hitherto done, not only our
property but our lives will be at their mercy.”

A Circassian girl from the village on seeing me came forward, and with
tears in her eyes implored me to take her with me and keep her in my
service. She was about eighteen years of age, a beautiful creature, dark
complexioned, with sparkling eyes, which overflowed when I refused her
request. “I am perishing with _ennui_ here,” she said, “in this dreadful
outlandish place, without a hope or chance of getting away by being sold
or rescued by some charitable person who might take me to Stamboul!”
Surprised at her statement, I asked why she did not do as others of her
nation, and insist upon being sold. With a look of hopeless despondency
she replied: “None now dares to buy the _Cherkess_ girls belonging to
the emigrants.” She would give me no further information, but through
subsequent inquiry I learnt that the Turkish Government, among the laws
it had made relating to the Circassians, had deprived them of the right
of selling their children as they formerly did in their native country,
and had also decreed the liberation of the slaves held by them. But this
law, like many others, was disregarded, and the chieftains continued
to treat their subjects as slaves, a cause of constant quarrelling and
bloodshed among them. Some broke out into open rebellion and refused
to obey their master as such, while the chiefs, strong in the close
alliance that existed among them, could at all times, notwithstanding the
interference of the authorities, bring their subjects to terms by taking
the law into their own hands.

With regard to selling their children, it was neither the law prohibiting
the practice nor the want of purchasers that put a stop to it, but
the abuse made of it by the Circassians themselves. For instance, two
brothers would agree to sell a sister to some Mohammedan, who, after
having paid the money and obtained possession of the girl, was suddenly
called before the local courts to answer the charge brought by her
father, without whose consent it was pretended the daughter had been
ravished and illegally sold. The purchaser thus losing his prize without
receiving back the money he had paid to the dishonest Circassians,
and being condemned for the proceeding by the law, made known the
undesirability of such purchases among his friends, and deprived them of
any wish to participate in such troublesome business.

The depredations of the Circassians became so extensive that from one
farm alone in the district of Adrianople three hundred and fifty head of
cattle were stolen and never recovered.

A systematic company of cattle-stealers was established all over
Bulgaria; the stolen animals taken from the villages found their way
to Rodosto and Gallipoli, where they were shipped to Asia Minor and
exchanged with stolen cattle from that coast. The dexterity with which a
Circassian, introducing himself into a stud, takes possession of the best
horse is the terror and wonder of the farmer. He uses a kind of lasso
which, cast over the head of the animal, enables him to mount it and
stick to it as if horse and rider were one. The wildest animal is soon
cowed under the iron sway of the rider, and disappears, to be seen no
more.

A gentleman, wishing to procure a good horse from a Circassian, asked the
owner if the animal was a good trotter. The Circassian, with a malicious
smile, answered, “Sir, he will take you to the world’s end, so long as
you are careful not to turn his head in the direction of Philippopolis,
but in that case I do not guarantee him!”

Another incident, illustrative of the thievish propensities of these
people, was related to me of a carter who, driving his wagon from town,
fell asleep in it, and was met by a band of Circassians, who thought the
prize too tempting to be allowed to escape. Some of the party, therefore,
took to unharnessing the oxen, and two of them, taking the place of the
captured animals, kept the cart going while the others went off with the
oxen. When these were at a fair distance, their substitutes gave the
cart a strong jerk to arouse the poor unsuspecting driver, and heartily
saluting him, disappeared across country.

So long as Circassian marauding was limited to incidents of this nature
the peasants put up with it, and in many cases abstained even from
complaining to the authorities; but gradually the proceedings of this
dangerous race assumed a character the gravity of which only escaped
public notice because of the general disorganization that followed.

Becoming prosperous and wealthy through their continual depredations
and robberies, the youthful portion of the community that had escaped
sickness on first landing formed a lawless hostile faction in the land,
having as little respect for the authority of the Porte as for the life
and property of the natives. When the Government tried some years ago to
bring a portion of them under military discipline, they rebelled and gave
much trouble to the authorities in the capital itself, where it was found
necessary to seize, exile, and otherwise punish some of the chiefs for
insubordination.

I happened to be travelling in a Turkish steamer with thirty of these
rebellious subjects. Their chief was said to have been an influential
person, holding the rank of aide-de-camp to a member of the Imperial
family, perhaps the famous Cherkess Hasan, who nearly two years ago
murdered the Ministers. The Turkish officer who had charge of these
troublesome prisoners told me that for two months he and his men had
given chase to this band, who had escaped into Asia Minor, where they
had continued their depredations, and were only secured at last by being
surrounded in a forest. They appeared a dreadful set of cut-throats—not
at all pleasant fellow-passengers—and their guards had to keep good watch
over them. This officer further stated that the Sultan, out of kindness,
had invited them into his dominions, giving them land, and every
opportunity of settling down and becoming useful members of society;
but it was a sad mistake, for they would neither work nor yield to
discipline, neither would they make any efforts to requite the Government
for the benefit they had received, but in every instance proved their
reputation for lawlessness and depredation. It is an important fact that
before the Bulgarian troubles the peasants of the districts where the
Circassians were in force dared no longer circulate except in companies
of fifty or sixty, and that murderous attacks had become every-day
occurrences.

Although protected in some high quarters in consequence of their close
connection through family ties, the Circassians are generally disliked
and distrusted, especially by the people, who have no such strong reasons
for protecting them. In physical features they often present splendid
specimens of the famed Circassian type, though not unfrequently bearing a
great resemblance to the Mongolian. In manner they are haughty and even
insulting, with an air of disdain and braggadocio such as no really brave
man assumes. In character the Cherkess is undoubtedly cowardly, cruel,
and false. Education he has none, so that all the evil passions of his
nature, unchecked by any notion of moral, religious, or civil obligation,
have developed themselves with irresistible force, and prompted him
to acts that during the last two years have placed the name of the
Circassian below that of the gypsy.

It is said that they are to be expelled from European Turkey. If this
is the case, the unfortunate population of Asia Minor, both Mohammedan
and Christian, among whom they will be quartered, are most deeply to be
pitied, as well as the Government, whose duty it will be to re-establish
and discipline these ruffians now rendered desperate and doubly hardened
by the crimes and horrors of every description into which they have
lately plunged with impunity.

The best and wisest plan would be to request Russia, if she really and
earnestly desires the welfare of the Christians in Turkey, to take the
Circassians back and reinstate them in their native land. Should this
be impracticable, the Turkish Government would do well to send them to
colonize some of the fertile but waste lands in the heart of Asia Minor,
in the vicinity of half-savage tribes like themselves, in whom they might
find their match, and cease to become a perpetual source of trouble and
injury both to the Government and its peaceful subjects.

       *       *       *       *       *

The migration of the Tatars into Turkey preceded that of the Circassians
by half a century. When their country passed into the hands of Russia,
the Tatars, unwilling to remain under her dominion, removed, at a great
sacrifice of life and property, into Bessarabia, where, scarcely had
they begun to feel settled and to forget their wrongs and sufferings,
than the Muscovite eagle again clouded the horizon, and the emigrants,
fluttering at its approach like a flock of frightened birds, collected
their families and belongings, and took to flight. Weary and exhausted,
they alighted on the Ottoman soil, and settled in the Dobrudcha. They
were a quiet and industrious people, and before long, through toil and
exertion, they made themselves homes, and peopled the Dobrudcha with
their increasing numbers. Some of the Tatar princes migrated with their
subjects, and took up their abode in the vicinity of Zaghra, where they
retained their title of _Sultanlar_, or “the princes.” They became in
time wealthy landowners, but, unlike their less exalted brethren, they
were hard, unjust, and oppressive masters to the Bulgarian peasants, and
by their cruel treatment of these people were among the causes of their
being cited as rebels before the authorities.

A second emigration of Tatars took place after the Crimean War, when
these unfortunate people, in a similar plight to the Circassians, came to
join their kinsmen in the Dobrudcha and other parts of European Turkey.
They were poor, and for the most part destitute of every requisite of
life. The Turkish Government did its best to help them by giving grants
of land, etc., but those who settled as agriculturists were unfortunate,
for a series of bad seasons crushed their first efforts, and, unassisted
by further relief, they remained in a stationary condition of poverty,
notwithstanding many praiseworthy efforts to better their condition.
Those who settled in towns fared better; all who were acquainted with
some handicraft at once set to work and executed their different branches
of industry with so much activity, neatness, and honesty that they soon
reached prosperity and comfort.

Their religion is Mohammedan, but they are by no means strict or
fanatical. Their women do not cover their faces when among their own
community, but when abroad are veiled like the Turkish women. They are
very thrifty in their habits, and some are pretty and sweet-looking, but
as a rule they are the dirtiest subjects in the Sultan’s dominions. Their
uncleanliness with regard to dress, dwellings, and food is so great as to
shock and horrify the Turks, who certainly have that virtue which is said
to come next to godliness.

The principal ingredient in their cookery seems to be tallow; as
candle-makers they are greatly superior to the natives, and the
preference given to this article of their manufacture has induced them to
take the principal portion of this branch of industry into their hands.

When a colony settled in the town of A⸺, one of my friends took a great
interest in the efforts made by these estimable artisans to earn a
livelihood as shoe-makers, tailors, tallow-chandlers, etc. Some opened
small shops for the sale of different articles, while those who had
no distinct calling or possessed no capital became wood-cutters, or
hawkers of vegetables, fruits, etc. In this business, however, they met
with shrewd and knowing professionals—the Jews, who were far more able
and practised hands at it, and at first gave very little chance to the
poor Tatars. It became a race between Jew and Tatar who should get up
earliest in the morning and go furthest to meet the peasants bringing
their produce to market. In this the Tatar was most successful, as he was
the better walker of the two, and less afraid than the Jew of venturing
some distance from the town; but the latter contented himself with the
reflection that there are many roads that lead to the same goal, and many
ways of making profit which are not dreamt of in Tatar philosophy.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Gypsies in Turkey, numbering about 200,000 souls, profess outwardly
Mohammedanism, but keep so few of its tenets that the true believers,
holding them in execration, deny their right to worship in the mosques
or bury their dead in the same cemetery. Although not persecuted, the
antipathy and disdain felt for them evinces itself in many ways, and
appears to be founded upon a strange legend current in the country. This
legend says that when the gypsy nation were driven out of their country
and arrived at Mekran, they constructed a wonderful machine, to which a
wheel was attached. Nobody appeared able to turn this wheel till, in the
midst of their vain efforts, some evil spirit presented himself under the
disguise of a sage and informed the chief (whose name was Chen) that the
wheel would be made to turn only when he had married his sister Guin.
The chief accepted the advice, the wheel turned round, and the name of
the tribe after this incident became that of the combined names of the
brother and sister, _Chenguin_, the appellation of all the gypsies of
Turkey at the present day.

This unnatural marriage, coming to the knowledge of one of the Moslem
saints, was forthwith, together with the whole tribe, soundly cursed;
they were placed beyond the pale of mankind, and sent out of the country
under the following malediction: “May you never more enter or belong to
the seventy-seven and a half races that people the earth, but as outcasts
be scattered to the four corners of the earth, homeless, wretched, and
poor; ever wandering and toiling, never realizing wealth, enjoying the
fruits of your labor, or acquiring the esteem of mankind!”[4]

I have related this legend because it represents in a very striking
manner the condition of the gypsies of Turkey as well as the belief
placed in it by people of all creeds, who not only put them beyond
the pale of humankind, but also deny to them what would be granted to
animals—their alms. Last year during the Ramazan, a popular Hodja,
preaching on charity to a large congregation of Mohammedans, thus
addressed them—“O true believers, open your purses every one of you,
and give largely to the poor and needy! Refuse not charity either to
Mohammedans or Christians, for they are separated from us only by the
thickness of the skin of an onion, but give none to the Chenguins, lest
part of the curse that rests upon their heads should fall upon yours!”

Mohammedanism and the Christian rites also practised by a few of the
gypsies can only be a mask to hide the heathen superstition handed down
among them from generation to generation, together with their native
language, and some other observances, such as keeping a fire continually
burning in their camp. On the first of May all go in a body to the
sea-coast or the banks of a river, where they throw water three times on
their temples, invoking the invisible _genii loci_ to grant their special
wishes.

Another custom, observed with equal constancy, is that of annually
drinking some potion, the secret of whose preparation is known only to
the oldest and wisest of the tribe. This draught is partaken of by the
whole community as a charm or preventive against snake-bites. It is
certain that, owing to some agency, the gypsies can catch snakes and
handle them with the greatest impunity, but are never known to kill or
hurt these animals.

The habits of these people are essentially nomadic. Sultan Murad IV.
tried to check their roving disposition by ordering that they should be
permanently settled in the vicinity of the Balkans, and obliged to live
a regular life; but disregarding the imperial decree, they dispersed
all over the country, now pitching their tents in one place and now in
another, like evil spirits bent on mischief, or birds of prey ready to
pounce upon any game that offers itself. Their pilfering propensities are
entirely directed to supplying the common wants of nature; they never
grow rich on their plunder.

The tribe is divided into two classes—those who live in the towns for
short periods, and those, the wildest and vilest, who wander about
all the year round; during the summer pitching their tents in the
open country or on the roadside, men, women, and children all huddled
together under the tattered rags that form their only shelter. The men
and women are miserably clad, and the children walk about in their
original nakedness. The Chenguins are muscular, thin, and of middle
size; with dark skins, bright sparkling eyes, low undeveloped brows,
and well-defined nose, wide at the nostril; the lower part of the face
is ill-formed and sensual. When quite young, some of the women are very
pretty and much appreciated by the Turkish community as dancing girls,
in which calling their utter want of decency and morality makes them
adepts. When the gypsy woman is advanced in years she becomes perfectly
hideous; her brown skin shrivels up through privation and exposure, her
body gets thin and emaciated, and her uncombed elf locks, half concealing
her features, give her the appearance of a witch. The cunning creature,
aware of the effect she produces, makes capital out of it, by impressing
the credulous with a belief in her uncanny powers of predicting the
future, casting or removing the evil eye, or other magic spells, invoking
benefits or bringing evil upon those who refuse charity or provoke her
anger; thus extorting from fear the alms that pity refused.

In winter they quarter themselves in the vicinity of towns or villages,
where they have a better chance of carrying on their trade of petty
thieving. The nuisance they become to a neighborhood is increased by
the hopelessness of obtaining any recovery of property stolen by them.
The gypsy is by no means particular as to the nature of the object he
covets, but will condescendingly possess himself of an old horse found
conveniently in his neighborhood, or venture further and lay hands on
anything from a useful article of dress to a stray ox.

The following incidents that came under my personal observation were
attributed to an encampment of gypsies in the vicinity of the town of
M⸺, and will give an idea how these people, called by the peasants
_Taoukjis_, set about business, and the precautions they take to avoid
detection and escape punishment.

In our stable were three fine and valuable horses, much admired in the
town, which had evidently awakened the cupidity of some gypsies encamped
opposite the house on the other side of the river. On one occasion, when
the two best were away from home together with the groom, the third horse
disappeared during the night. In the morning I sent to give notice of the
occurrence to the sub-governor and request his aid in discovering the
thief or thieves. This functionary, a kind and civil man, at once called
upon me and gave me the assurance that the horse would be recovered, as
none but the gypsies encamped opposite could have stolen it. The police
were sent to the camp to request about a dozen to come to the Konak to
answer for the robbery.

On arriving, the gypsies were placed under close examination by the
Kaimakam and Medjliss; they naturally denied all knowledge of the
robbery and protested against the accusation. Finding them obstinate,
the Kaimakam ordered them to be placed under the pressure of the whip,
but this appearing to produce no effect, made the governor suspect
that some trick had been resorted to, in order to prevent the culprits
feeling the smart of the punishment they had anticipated. They were
ordered to undress, upon which, looking very crestfallen, they began to
pray for mercy, but their prayers were soon drowned in the sounds of
general hilarity that followed the discovery of the successive layers
of sheepskin in which they had taken the precaution of enveloping their
bodies. The first few blows that fell upon their now unprotected backs,
drew forth screams of “Aman, Effendi!” followed by sundry revelations on
the disappearance of the horse. “Last night,” said one, “it came quite
unexpectedly into our camp; we tried to secure it but it escaped again,
we will endeavor to find and bring it back, but, oh, Aman! Effendi! beat
us no more! we will pay the value of the horse for the honor of the
Chenguin tribe!” When these proceedings came to my knowledge, I begged
the Kaimakam not to be too hard on the poor rogues, but set them free
after the severe punishment they had received. I may add that the horse
was never found.

On the shapeless, ill-paved, mud-pooled space which usually occupies
the centre of small Turkish towns, the peasants collect from all parts
of the surrounding country with their carts and beasts of burden, laden
with goods for sale or barter. On one occasion an industrious Bulgarian
cloth-weaver took up his habitual post at the corner of a narrow street,
where he exhibited his stock of goods and invited purchasers. Shortly
afterwards, a ragged, thievish-looking Chenguin, with a couple of sieves
of his own manufacture, came and seated himself opposite, apparently
with the object of selling his stock in trade. No customer appeared,
and the gypsy began to show signs of weariness and sleepiness; he
yawned desperately, stretched his limbs, looked at his neighbor, yawned
again and again, until he succeeded in infecting him with a sympathetic
drowsiness. Gradually passing into the second stage of somnolence,
he closed his eyes and nodded. The Bulgarian, following his example,
was soon fast asleep, and the gypsy, quickly springing to his feet,
seized a fine piece of _shayak_, and walked away with it. The Bulgarian
unsuspectingly slept on until roused by his head coming in contact with
the wall, against which he was leaning; his bewildered gaze instinctively
turned to the spot which the other slumberer had occupied, and, finding
that it was empty, he looked at his merchandise and discovered that
his best piece of cloth had disappeared also. Much troubled, he packed
up the rest of his goods, and proceeded to the house of the Chorbadji,
who advised him to find the gypsy, and point him out to the police, who
might succeed in recovering his property. To this he responded, “All the
gypsies have the same wild, tattered, and cunning appearance, and follow
the trade of _taoukjis_; if I call the attention of the police to my
case, I shall be made responsible for the imprisonment of the whole band,
and incur expenses greater than the value of my cloth. I must therefore
forego it; but never again shall this stupid ‘Bulgarski glava’ be outdone
by gypsy cunning!”

The other callings followed by the Chenguins are those of tinkers,
blacksmiths, leaders of bears and monkeys, and musicians of a primitive
kind. The women keep up the _Nautch_ dance of the East with an
excruciating kind of accompaniment, consisting of a drum, bagpipe,
tambourine, and pipe, with which they make the round of the towns and
villages on feast-days, when they are hired by the people, and dance and
shout to their hearts’ content.

The gypsies are idle, false, and treacherous. They have none of the manly
virtues; and on account of their known cowardice, they were never pressed
into military service by the Turks until last year, when a certain number
of those settled in towns and villages were sent off as recruits. It was
a picture worth seeing, when a band of these wild creatures was embarked
at the town of S⸺. Guarded by a detachment of soldiers headed by a drum
and clarionet, and followed by the whole tribe of old men, women, and
children, screaming, crying, and dragging their rags after them, these
doubtful warriors marched through the town. I asked an old crone how it
was that the Chenguins had to go to war. “God knows,” was her reply; “it
is the Sultan’s command and must be obeyed.”

The hatred shown by the Turks to the invaders of their country was so
great, and their patriotism and bravery in defending her so conspicuous,
that even this degenerate race became infected with a certain degree of
the same devotion, and evinced a desire to go and fight for Allah and
the Sultan, although at the last moment their natural cowardice proved
too strong for them. Some mutilated their hands, others feigned sickness
or insanity as an excuse for remaining behind, whilst those who actually
reached the seat of war gave great trouble to their officers, did no
service whatever, and deserted whenever a chance presented itself.

The class of gypsies living in towns is slightly better and more
respectable as a community. They generally occupy hovels built round a
court, in which they take shelter during the night; but during the day,
in winter or summer, they live out of doors. A great part of their time
is spent lounging about the court, hammering at their forges, smoking
or quarrelling, while the girls listlessly parade the streets, and the
children beg or fall into any mischief that presents itself. They are
never sent to school, and I do not think there is a single person of
either sex who is able to write a word of any language.

The gypsies settled in the villages take to field work as far as their
roving habits and thievish propensities allow them. These are either
_chiftjis_, who work regularly, or _ailikjis_, who do odd jobs. They
present a strong contrast to the rest of the rural population in their
thriftlessness and want of care for the morrow. They are so careless of
health that an aged gypsy is rarely met with. As laborers they are very
unsatisfactory, and require much supervision from their employers. No
gypsy ever becomes wealthy or respectable; as a class they are always in
debt.

The whole tribe is a curious mixture of the human and the animal: it is
endowed with the scent of the dog, the cunning of the monkey, and the
form and vices, but none of the virtues apparently, of mankind.




CHAPTER VII.

TENURE OF LAND.

    Three Classes of Lands in Turkey—_Vakouf_ Lands, their
    Origin and Growth—Turkish Equivalent of Mortmain—Privileges
    of Tenants on _Vakouf_ Land—Maladministration—Corruption of
    Charity Agents and Government Inspectors—General System of
    Embezzlement—Sultan Mahmoud’s Attempted Reform—Insufficiency
    of _Vakouf_ Revenues as administered; Supplemented by
    State—General Decay of _Vakouf_ Property, Mosques, Medressés,
    and Imarets—Misapplication of _Vakouf_ Funds intended for
    the Support of the Public Water-supply—_Mirié_ Lands,
    Government Grants, Military Proprietors, Growth of a Feudal
    System—Miserable Condition of the Rayahs—Anxiety of the
    Porte—Destruction of the Feudal System by Mahmoud and
    Abdul-Medjid—Reduction of the Bosnian and Albanian Beys—Present
    Condition of the Country Beys—_Mirié_ Lands reclaimed from
    the Waste—Title-Inspectors—A Waste-Land Abuse—Similar
    Difficulties in Connection with Ordinary _Mirié_ Tenure—_Mulk_
    or Freehold Lands—Their Small Extent—Difficulty of Establishing
    Safe Titles—Descent and Transfer of Land—Tenure of Land by
    Christians and by Foreign Subjects—Commons and Forests—The
    Inspectors of the Forest Department.


Regarded from a conveyancer’s point of view, land in Turkey is of three
kinds: _mevkoufé_ (or _vakouf_), “church” property; _mirié_, crown
property; and _mulk_ or _memlouké_, freehold.

1. _Vakouf_ lands are those set aside for the support of the religious
establishments, the mosques, _medressés_ (or mosque-colleges) and
other religious schools, and the _imarets_, or institutions for public
almsgiving. The appropriation of a just part of a man’s wealth for
purposes of religion and charity is one of the most constantly reiterated
principles of Islam, and, to the credit of Moslems be it said, it is
a principle very regularly reduced to practice. It is not surprising,
therefore, that on the conquest of European Turkey a large share of land
was set apart “for God.” But this original grant was not the only source
of the present large extent of vakouf lands. Private munificence has
constantly added to the original foundation. The piety of some Moslems
and the vain-glory of others has ever been displayed in the erection and
endowment of mosques, with their attendant medressés and imarets. In the
one case it was a sure key to heaven; in the other, it was the best way
to get the praises of men of one’s own generation and the admiration of
posterity. Formerly ordinary people used frequently to indulge in this
architectural luxury; but, during the present century, only Sultans and
Grand Vizirs have found the practice convenient.

Besides the original grant and the private additions which each century
contributed, vakouf lands have been greatly increased from a third
source. The people of Turkey seem to have duly appreciated those
privileges against which our own mortmain laws were directed. The
parallel is not indeed strictly accurate, but there are strong points of
resemblance. A Moslem (or, for that matter, a Christian) sells his land
to a mosque for about one-tenth of its real value. The land is now the
property of the mosque, but the seller has the right of lease, and may
retain his tenancy on payment of a fixed rent. During his life he may
sell the lease, or at his death it passes on to his heirs; but in default
of direct descendants the lease reverts absolutely to the mosque.[5] By
this transaction both parties are the gainers, and only the Government
and its corrupt officials the losers.

The mosque receives a large interest for a comparatively trifling
expenditure of capital; and has besides the reversion in the event of
default of heirs. The tenant, though he has to pay a rent where formerly
he paid none, is not burdened by this slight charge, and sets against
it the immense privileges he has acquired; for, as a tenant on vakouf
land—that is, holding direct of Allah—he pays no taxes; he is safe
from confiscation by the Government, extortion from its officials, and
persecution from private creditors. It is the most profitable and secure
tenure to be met with in Turkey, and it is a matter of congratulation
that the mosque authorities place so high a value upon money that they
are willing to accept it even from dogs of Christians who wish to avail
themselves of the protection afforded by vakouf leasehold.

No official report of the extent of the vakouf lands has, so far as I can
learn, been published; but it is easy to understand that their extent
and value must be very great. It is even estimated at two-thirds of the
whole land of Turkey. It is therefore remarkable that the revenues
derived from them do not nearly suffice for the purposes for which they
were intended. The expense of maintaining the services of the mosques
and of keeping up the extremely economical system of religious education
would not seem to be excessive, though the charitable imarets would of
course require considerable support. But these are not the real reasons
why these rich revenues are not sufficient. One reason is, that they are
expected to maintain a large class of Ulema, whose numbers are altogether
disproportionate to the educational results they produce. The other and
far more disastrous cause is that the revenues are corruptly administered.

At first the management of the funds lay in the hands of agents appointed
by the pious founders. When an agent died, his successor was named by
the Roumeli Kadisi (or Anadoli Kadisi if in Asiatic Turkey). The agents
were under the supervision of inspectors, whose business it was to
verify the mosque accounts. These inspectorships were generally given to
high functionaries of the Porte, and so lucrative were they that they
excited keen competition (in the Turkish sense), and eventually came to
be regarded as the fixed appendages of certain offices. It may easily be
imagined that between the agents and the inspectors there was not much
of the vakouf revenues left for the right purposes. As a matter of fact,
most of the money found its way into the pockets of the inspectors of the
Sublime Porte.

Among the many schemes that engaged the attention of the Reformer-Sultan
Mahmoud there was of course a place for vakouf reform. He wished to
amalgamate the vakouf lands with the mirié or crown lands, but had not
the boldness necessary to the carrying out of so revolutionary a measure.
He contented himself with clearing away some of the more obvious abuses
of the administration of vakoufs, and appointed a director, with the rank
of Minister, to see to the proper management of the property. Still,
however, the revenues did not prove sufficient. The annual budget of
vakouf returns reached a total of 20,000,000 piastres; yet in 1863 it had
to be supplemented by another 20,000,000 piastres from the Treasury, and
is ever in need of similar assistance. The funds are still misapplied;
and, as the result, the mosques and medressés have fallen more and more
into ruin and decay; the imarets are become instruments of a merely
nominal almsgiving; and every charitable or religious intention of the
pious founders is daily trodden under foot.

Among the minor objects of vakouf endowments are the construction and
maintenance in repair of aqueducts and road fountains. I have often
witnessed with regret the manner in which the trust is abused by its
holders. In most towns the principal water supply is endowed by vakoufs,
the revenues of which were intended to defray all expenses connected with
keeping the channels and fountains in repair. In three cases out of four
these funds are misapplied. At Salonika, for instance, the water supply
is richly endowed, and the town ought clearly to be well furnished with
water. Instead of this, a great number of the fountains are dried up, and
a serious waste of water is caused by the neglect of the water-pipes.
It is painful to see the crowd of miserable Jewish children waiting for
hours round the dribbling fountain under a burning summer sun, or pierced
with the biting winter winds, till they get a chance of filling their
pitchers—too often only to get them broken in the battle that immediately
ensues. In summer, when the want of water is most severely felt, many
people do not scruple to dig down to the water pipes in some deserted
street, stop the current that leads to the fountain, and thus obtain the
supply they need. In former times fountains were erected on all the
main roads and in every town and village; but most of them are now dried
up or fallen to ruin. Some of those that remain are of solid marble,
with a carved frontage inscribed with the name of the donor, the date of
erection, and some verses from the Koran. Some are in the form of basins,
with jets playing in them, sheltered sometimes by little kiosks, and
always shaded by fine old trees. The thirsty traveller and his beast are
all the more grateful when they do find a fountain with water running,
because the chances are so overwhelmingly against such good luck—thanks
to the vakouf administrators, who from this point of view deserve credit
for intensifying the virtue of gratitude.

2. The _Mirié_, or crown-lands, include the private demesnes of the
Sultan and the royal family, the lands reserved for the partial support
of the administration, the waste lands, together with an enormous extent
of land originally granted on condition of military service to the most
zealous supporters of the Sultan, with a view to retaining their fidelity
and assuring the supremacy of the Government over the native princes.
The country was thus given over to the power and license of an army of
occupation. It was divided into sandjaks governed by Pashas, Beys, and
Beglerbeys. Those last-named were the administrators of the sandjaks.
Their duty it was to collect the taxes and furnish the contingents of
troops to the Imperial army. The favored officers of the Porte received
immense grants of land in return for their zeal; they were exempt from
taxation, and only required to find soldiers for the wars of the Porte.
Excluding vakouf lands, the greater part of Turkey was thus placed on a
sort of feudal tenure, the proprietor holding of the crown by military
service. All the evil effects of the system soon developed themselves.

The lands of these military proprietors were of course chiefly tilled
by the rayahs, who had formerly held them in freehold. Although these
underholdings were supposed, like all mirié lands, to be registered,
and thus to enjoy the advantage of a legally fixed rent, they were yet
subject to the endless extortions invariably associated with the notion
of Turkish officials. Especially heavily did this system press upon the
Christian tenants of the military landowners. In principle the conduct of
the Turks to their Christian subjects was not greatly blamable; it was in
practice, as usual, that the grievances arose. The Christian communities
were managed by their Kodja-Bashi, or headman, who had to collect the
tribute, proportioning it to the means of each individual; and to
gather the kharadj, or poll-tax, and other impositions. A community was
allowed to compound for each or all its taxes by a fixed sum. Thus far
all appears surprisingly satisfactory. But when the actual condition of
the Christian tenants is looked into, a very different impression is
produced. Their landlords were ever devising some new extortion; the
taxes were levied with ruinous irregularity; fresh impositions were
constantly being added; and, in fine, their state became so intolerable
that large numbers of them deserted their faith (of which they are
generally highly tenacious in spite of ignorance and persecution), and
became Moslems, and were at once placed in possession of the privileges
of the dominant race. A curious instance of this conversion by necessity
was that of the Krichovalis, a lawless race of mountaineers about
Vodena. About the beginning of this century they found themselves unable
longer to endure the disabilities of their condition. They met in solemn
assembly in their old church on a great feast-day, and swore the sacred
oath upon the Bible that they became Mohammedans under protest, being
compelled to abandon their faith in order to escape the intolerable
trammels of their bondage. The Bible on which they swore, containing the
signatures of the chief men, still exists, I am told, in the keeping of
the Greek priest.

The evils of military tenure bore upon the Porte as well as upon the
rayahs. The Sultans were not slow to note with alarm the growing power
of the great feudatories. They endeavored to curtail their privileges
and to strengthen the hands of the rayahs and attach this class to
themselves. But for a long time the efforts of the central government
were unavailing. The military landowners made common cause with the
Beglerbeys, who had by degrees acquired the supreme control of their
sandjaks; and these two united in defying the authority of the sovereign.
A great landed aristocracy had grown up, like the baronage of England in
Angevin times, and threatened the very extinction of the supremacy of the
Porte over its subjects. A great blow must be struck at the country Beys;
and Mahmoud II. resolved to strike. He was completely successful, and
left to his successor Abdul-Medjid only the task of bringing some of the
rebellious chieftains to punishment. Some were beheaded, other banished,
and all had their property confiscated. Inoffensive tenants by military
service received compensation; but the system was rooted out, and has now
ceased to exist.

How the great feudal landowners were crushed will be understood from
a few examples. A short time ago I made the acquaintance of one of
the dervish sheikhs who followed Ali Pasha when he was dispatched by
Abdul-Medjid to reduce the Bosnian rebels. I asked how the reduction
was effected; and this was his account: Ali Pasha, with a small but
well-organized army of Nizams, on approaching the country, asked
permission of the Bosnians to cross into the Austrian territory. The
Bosnians unsuspectingly granted leave, and we marched into the country
and pitched our camp in its very heart. After a few days the Pasha
produced the Iradé of the Sultan, containing a demand for 60,000 recruits
from the Bosnians. They refused to furnish them, and began to assemble
and arm. The Pasha did not insist upon the enforcement of the Imperial
order, but opened negotiations. He was a wily man and knew his business.
He managed with soft words and fair promises to entice all the Bosnian
grandees into the camp, under the pretext of holding a general council.
Having thus collected all the influential persons of the country, he put
them under arrest and proceeded to try them. Some were beheaded, and Ali
Pasha with his own hand struck down the leading chief. The rest after
some further parley were brought to terms, and were then exiled and their
goods confiscated. The 60,000 recruits were soon raised, and the general
marched triumphantly back to Constantinople at their head.

The Albanian chieftains were dealt with in the same way: when forced
failed, treachery prevailed. Their two leaders, Veli-bey and Arslan-bey,
were enticed by a friendly invitation to Monastir, where they were
received with every mark of consideration and kindness. A few days
afterwards they and their friends were invited to a great feast by Reshid
Mehemet Pasha. This was to take place in a kiosk outside the town near
the head-quarters of the regular troops.

On the appointed day Veli-bey and Arslan-bey proceeded to the rendezvous
accompanied by nearly all their beys and retinue; in all about 400 men.
The kiosk was hidden from view by a turn in the road till they had almost
reached it, and it was only on entering the space in front that they
perceived the troops ranged in order of battle. A suspicion crossed the
mind of Arslan-bey, who said to his companion in Eastern phrase, “We have
eaten dirt!” Veli-bey replied, “It is the regular way of paying honor.”
“At all events,” said Arslan-bey, with doubtful friendship, “let us
change sides.” This was done, and Arslan-bey found himself screened from
view by the imposing figure of Veli-bey and his horse. They had reached
the centre of the line, when an order issued from the window of the
kiosk, the soldiers raised their pieces, and a murderous fire was opened
on the ranks of the Albanians, followed by a bayonet charge. Veli-bey
and his horse fell pierced with nineteen balls, but Arslan-bey was
unhurt. Followed by those who had escaped the first discharge, he turned
his horse and took to flight; but a second fire reached their flank.
Arslan-bey again miraculously escaped, and owing to the speed of his
horse soon left the place of carnage at a distance. But his flight had
been observed from the kiosk from which the Grand Vizir had directed the
massacre, and he was pursued; but putting spurs to his horse, he urged it
up the precipitous side of the hill, making for the summit with furious
speed. The top was almost reached when a shower of balls brought down man
and horse; and they rolled down the steep hillside to join the bodies of
their fellow-victims below. Such were the last fatal blows aimed at the
expiring feudal system; exile and confiscation did the rest.

The once powerful Beys, when thoroughly crushed and impoverished, were
allowed a small income, and after many years of expatriation were finally
permitted to return to their native districts. Their power is completely
gone, although their personal influence is still considerable over the
populations among whom they live, and in the local courts in which they
sit. It is however of a mutinous nature, and seldom employed either
in facilitating the introduction of the new measures attempted by the
Government for the improvement of the administration, or in promoting the
general welfare of the country.

Some beys in the interior still possess considerable landed property, but
with few exceptions their estates are dilapidated and heavily mortgaged;
while their owners are so deeply in debt to the Government that if called
to a reckoning under a well-regulated administration they would be ruined
men. A few, however, whose estates are in better condition are more
enlightened, and take a real interest in the welfare of their country.

The country contains extensive areas of mirié kinds reclaimed from the
waste, for which of late years there has been a great demand made by the
peasants, who reclaim portions of them by paying a small fee of about
1_s._ an acre. They cultivate or build upon them, and after paying tithes
for the space of twenty years get the _Tapou_, or title-deed, from the
Porte constituting them legal owners. But although subjected to special
laws and restrictions and under government supervision, it is a dangerous
speculation, often involving litigation, and liable to usurpation.

Great abuses are occasioned by the corruption of the _Tapou Memours_,
or inspectors, who within the last seven years have been intrusted
with the supervision and legislation of such lands, and regulate them
(irrespective of the rights of Christian or Turkish landholders) in
favor of the highest bidder. The consequences are that many persons have
been dispossessed of their property, others have had to pay high prices
to retain it by obtaining _Tapous_, whilst many are daily being driven
out of their lands. An example of this kind presented itself the other
day in the local court of the town of L⸺. The claimant was a Turkish
_Hanoum_; the disputants, Turkish and Christian peasants. The lady, a
widow, had inherited an estate bordering on some waste land upon which
these peasants had built a village. The _Hanoum_ in the mean time married
an influential person at Constantinople, through whose authority and
assistance, she managed to obtain a _Tapou_, including the village of
the settlers on the waste land within her own property. The villagers
indignantly protested against this act of usurpation, and refused to
acknowledge the authority of the lady, who, however, returned, furnished
with powerful _Emirnamés_ from the Porte to the town of L⸺ to enforce
her claims. The complaints of the peasants were disregarded, and they
themselves were seized as criminals and brought to the Konak, driven
into it by blows that fractured the skull of one and occasioned severe
injuries to others, and then imprisoned.

Disputed claims like this on commons, forests, etc., are innumerable.
The estates sold by the crown also labor under the same disadvantages.
Among many cases I may relate one in which the purchaser was an English
gentleman who bought a large estate in Upper Macedonia, comprising one
of the most beautiful lakes in the country. It was an ancient fief, sold
for the sum of 2000_l._ The speculation promised to be a splendid one,
and a fortune was expected to be realized. One day, however, as the owner
was walking over his grounds, an old Turkish peasant presented himself,
and with much natural eloquence, and perhaps some truth, explained to the
English bey that the former owner had usurped part of his fields which
were comprised in the estate. The proprietor, either convinced of the
man’s rights, or out of kindness, ordered that the contested lands should
be restored; but the one individual thus righted soon developed into
a legion, all presenting equal claims. Subsequently the legion became
a band of armed and menacing Albanians, who by their hostile attitude
stopped all attempts at culture, and threatened to shoot the tenants
and the steward, burn the crops, etc. A long litigation followed, and
the affair terminated, after much loss of time and damages amounting to
several thousand pounds, in the gentleman re-selling the estate for the
amount he had paid for it.

Besides the above-mentioned drawbacks, the holders of mirié lands cannot
sell, transfer, or mortgage them without a license from the authorities,
nor can they make them _Vakouf_ property without a special _Firman_ from
the Sultan.

3. The _Memlouké_ or _Mulk_ lands are the freehold property of their
owner, who can do with them whatsoever pleaseth him well. They do not
form a large proportion of the lands of Turkey, and a reason for this
is the prejudice entertained against this form of tenure on account of
the difficulties encountered in establishing titles. It is unfortunately
no unusual thing in Turkey for title-deeds to be forged, substituted,
destroyed, and otherwise interfered with.

The descent and division of Mirié and Vakouf lands are regulated by
imperial firmans and the special ordinances of the Vakouf laws; but
Memlouké land comes under the regulation of the _Mehkemé_ or court of
the town Kadi. The laws of Moslem inheritance are too complicated to
be recorded here, and their complexity is aggravated by the mixture of
Christians and the different ways of holding land. In the absence of
heirs, mirié and memlouké lands revert to the state; vakouf, as already
mentioned, to the administration of pious foundations.

Memlouké land is transferred legally by conveyance; vakouf and mirié by
conveyance together with registration. The duty on the sale of memlouké
land is five per cent, and the succession duty two and a half per cent;
on mirié, five per cent on sale, and the same on succession; on vakouf
land, five per cent on sale, and the same on succession. A difference,
however, is made if the land is built over.

The division of property among all the children and the reduction of its
value by these duties tend constantly to the diminution and deterioration
of Turkish estates and lead generally to mortgage. Mortgage on landed
property is at an average interest of eighteen per cent. The result is
easily imagined. Freehold lands may be legally mortgaged before two
witnesses without any further precaution; but crown and “church” lands to
be mortgaged must be registered by the registrar of title-deeds, or the
directors of vakouf property, for the fee of (nominally) one per cent.

A great number of large estates can be purchased in all parts of Turkey
for very small sums. The wealthy native Christians would gladly purchase
these, but for the complications that surround the possession of landed
property that is not vakouf, and the difficulties and opposition to which
a Christian land-holder is exposed. Turks seldom look favorably upon
the passing of such estates into Christian hands. Those who purchase
them are generally foreign subjects; the rayahs who venture to do so can
never enjoy their acquisitions in the same peace and security. Among many
instances of encroachment on such estates by hostile beys, Circassians,
and other neighbors, I may mention two that have come under my personal
observation. The first refers to a wealthy Bulgarian gentleman, whose
acquaintance I made ten years ago at R⸺. He was a man of great influence,
and a member of the Medjliss, or town council. A large estate owned by
him, not far from the town, was twice set on fire by his Mohammedan
neighbors, and a large mill he had constructed was pulled down. Neither
his influence in the district, nor his wealth, nor his position as member
of the council, could protect his estate, which he was finally obliged to
abandon.

The second case was that of a wealthy Greek at Baba Eski, a pretty
village between Constantinople and Adrianople. Some years ago I passed
a night in the house of this Chorbadji. When I talked to him about his
property he complained bitterly of the hostility he experienced from
his Turkish neighbors, and of the encroachments of the Circassians. The
former had attempted to set fire to his mill, and the latter had stolen
in the course of one year three hundred and fifty head of cattle from
him. “Wealth and prosperity,” said he, “are the sure recompense of every
man’s labor in a fine country like this, but it is hard work to keep
them when acquired.” Last year I met the unfortunate man at C⸺; he was a
complete beggar in appearance, and, with tears in his eyes, told me how
the Circassians and other enemies, profiting by the troubles in Bulgaria,
had completely destroyed his property. He had come to the town to obtain
redress, but I thought that his efforts would be fruitless.

Many gentlemen in Macedonia are owners of large estates. Some of them are
Greeks by birth, and all foreign subjects; for foreign subjects are now
permitted to hold land in Turkey on the same conditions as the subjects
of the Porte. Having capital at their command, and being more intelligent
than the Turks, they improve their property, and realize from seven to
ten per cent profit; but even their estates are not quite free from
the attacks and depredations of brigands, who often prevent them from
visiting their farms freely, or introducing all the improvements they
are desirous of making. Out of four of these, three sent their sons to
Europe, where they were educated for the profession of agriculturists,
a proceeding quite unknown among the Turkish proprietors. _Bonâ-fide_
Europeans are more respected and feared, and consequently are not exposed
to the hostilities to which native Christians are subjected. Some English
gentlemen possessing farms in Macedonia have had no occasion to complain,
even in these disordered times, when perfect anarchy prevails; their
property has been respected, and every assistance is afforded them by the
local authorities.

Estates can also be rented for a mere trifle, and when restored to good
condition are said to yield lucrative returns. Here again, however,
great care has to be taken to ascertain that they are not disputed
property, and, in the case of their belonging to several individuals of
one family, that all are of age, and sign the title-deeds. A case was
related to me by a member of the civil court of A⸺ of a rayah who had
rented an estate from a Turkish family, consisting of a widow and her
three sons, all of whom were of age and had signed the contract together
with their mother. The tenant, who was a man of moderate means, set to
work to improve the property, and spent £1000 upon it; but just as he was
beginning to realize the profits of his toil and outlay, a fourth son of
the widow came of age and disputed the validity of the contract. The case
was tried before the local civil court, and the rayah was declared to
have justice on his side; but as the case was one of heritage, the Turk
had the right to transfer it to the Mehkemé, or religious court of the
Kadi, which decided it in his favor. The result was that the tenant was
driven out of his estate, and lost all the money he had spent upon it.

Almost every village in Roumelia and Macedonia, and in fact all over
Turkey, had once its own common and forest, in which the peasant
proprietors, under certain laws and regulations, had the right to burn
charcoal, cut wood, and let the pasturage in spring to the herdsmen, who
brought down their sheep and cattle and kept them there the greater part
of summer. This was a great resource for the rural population, who, in
bad years, could always make some profit out of it.

After the organization of the vilayet system this privilege was
curtailed, and the forests and grazing grounds were placed under
government supervision. A Forest Department was established at
Constantinople, and a chief inspector appointed in every district,
together with agents to superintend the pasturages. The laws that were to
regulate these were said to be excellent, and, whilst equitable towards
the peasants, promised at the same time to yield considerable revenues to
the state. One of these regulations set forth that a portion of forest
and pasturage land should be left to the use of each village, securing
its provision of fuel and pasturage for its cattle. None of these laws
were, however, observed in the interior, and nothing definite was decided
with respect to either of these rights.

The beys, through bribery and favoritism, continued to enjoy their
ancient privileges over the forests and grazing lands, while the forest
inspectors are said to have realized such immense profits that every
official was desirous of becoming connected with the Forest Department.
The Government at the beginning, no doubt, derived some good receipts
from this new source, but the great expense inseparable from it, the
robberies that took place, and the destruction of property allowed, could
not fail, in the long-run, to be injurious to its interests. The abuses,
partiality, and waste that mark the proceedings of this branch of the
administration are most prejudicial to the rural population.

But the agents of pasture lands and the forest keepers are still more
tyrannical.

The extent of these grounds in the government possession was never
defined, nor has a limit ever been drawn. The beys rented the commons to
the herdmasters; the contracts were made with the cognizance of the local
authorities, and on stamped paper. Some of the villages that possessed
pasturage let it to the Wallachian sheep-owners, who, in the early part
of spring, migrate annually into Macedonia to pasture their flocks on the
commons.

Some herdsmen had made contracts for bringing down 300,000 sheep into
the plains, paid the fees for the contract, and the stipulated sum to
the peasants. All the arrangements seemed in perfect order until the
arrival of the flocks upon the different grazing grounds, when they were
driven off with violence and brutality by the forest-keepers and their
subordinates, who declared that they had no right to the pasturage
unless they paid the rent. The poor people produced their contract to
show that they had paid the money, and refused to do so a second time;
justly observing that, if any illegal action existed in the renting of
the pasturage, it regarded the Government and the villagers, and not
them, and that the Government should reclaim the money from the peasants.
This dispute lasted a week; some of the Wallachians referred it to the
local authorities, while others in their distress applied to any person
from whom assistance could be expected. Day after day these men, women,
and children might be seen in the streets of the town with desponding,
careworn faces, anxiously looking out for some of their people who might
tell them how the case was prospering. When I saw them no more about
the town, I asked one of the principal officials how the affair had
terminated; he replied, “Madame, malheureusement le gouvernement n’a pas
su encore mettre toutes ces choses en ordre, et il nous arrive souvent de
ces cas tristes; mais ça vient d’être arrangé.” He would not enlighten me
further on the subject, but I subsequently learnt that a great amount of
bakhshish had settled the matter in favor of the Wallachians.




CHAPTER VIII.

PEASANT HOLDINGS.

    Small Proprietors _South of the Balkans_—Flourishing
    State of the Country a few Years ago—A Rose-Harvest at
    Kezanlik—Bulgarian Villages—Oppressive and Corrupt System
    of Taxation and of Petty Government—The Disadvantages
    counterbalanced by the Industry and Perseverance of the
    Bulgarian Peasant—The Lending Fund in Bulgaria—Its Short
    Duration—Bulgarian Peasant often unavoidably in Debt—Bulgarian
    Cottages—Food and Clothing—Excellent Reports of German and
    Italian Engineers on the Conduct and Working Power of Bulgarian
    Laborers—Turkish Peasants—Turkish Villages—Comparative Merits
    of Turkish and Bulgarian Peasants—Land _in Macedonia_—Chiefly
    Large Estates—_Chiftliks_—The _Konak_, or Residence of
    the Owner—Country Life of the Bey and his Family—His
    Tenants (_Yeradjis_)—Character of the Yeradji—His Wretched
    Condition—The Metayer System Unfairly Worked—The _Yeradji_
    generally in Debt—Virtually a Serf bound to the Soil—Difficulty
    of getting Peasants to become _Yeradjis_—Statute
    Labor—Cultivation and Crops.


The land south of the Balkans, from the Black Sea to the frontier of
Macedonia, is divided into small holdings, which belong to and are farmed
by a peasant population of an essentially agricultural nature. Before
the late destruction of property in Bulgaria, almost every peasant in
those districts was a proprietor of from five to forty acres, which he
farmed himself. The larger estates, of which there were a considerable
number, were superintended by the proprietors themselves, but farmed
by hired laborers. The following figures will give an idea of the
average extent of the holdings in those districts: Out of a thousand
farms, three had five hundred acres; thirty had between one hundred and
five hundred; three hundred between fifty and a hundred; four hundred
between ten and fifty; and two hundred and sixty-seven under ten acres.
All these lands were well cultivated and yielded rich returns. I was
astonished at the beauty and flourishing condition of the country during
a journey I made some years ago from Adrianople to Servia. It appeared
like a vast and fruitful garden. The peace-loving and toiling Bulgarian
was seen everywhere steadily going through his daily work, while his
equally active and industrious wife and daughters were cheerfully
working by his side. _En route_, I stopped a few days in the lovely
town of Kezanlik, and was most kindly received by its well-to-do and
intelligent inhabitants, who pressed their hospitality upon me with a
genuine kindness never to be forgotten. I visited the schools, in which
the people prided themselves as much as in the astonishing progress
the pupils were making in their studies. I was also taken on a round
of visits into well-built clean houses where European furniture was
beginning to find a place, and contrasted pleasantly with the well-made
native tissues that covered sofas and floors. At dawn next morning
a tap at my door announced that it was time to rise and witness the
rose-gathering, which I wished to see. The roses begin to be collected
before sunrise, in order to keep in them all the richness of their
perfume. It requires expedition and many hands; so large bands of young
men and maidens, adding pleasure to toil whilst gathering the roses,
amuse themselves by carrying on their innocent little flirtations and
love-makings.

The large garden to which I was conducted belonged to the wealthy
Chorbadji in whose house I was staying. It was at some distance from the
town, and by the time we reached it the bright rays of a lovely spring
morning were fast spreading over the horizon. The field was thickly
planted with rose-bushes, with their rich harvest of half-open dew-laden
buds. The nightingales, in flights, hovered over them, disputing their
possession with the light-hearted Bulgarian harvesters, and chorusing
with their rich notes the gay songs of the scattered company, who,
dressed in their _Prasnik_ (feast-day) clothes,—the youths in snow-white
shirts and gaudy sleeveless vests, the girls in their picturesque
costume, the colored kerchiefs on their heads floating in the breeze,—had
the appearance of a host of butterflies flitting over the flowers. The
girls were actively and cheerfully employed in stripping off the buds and
throwing them into the baskets slung on their arms. The youths helped
them in the task, and were rewarded each with a bud from his sweetheart,
which he placed in his cap. The children ran to and fro emptying the
baskets into larger receptacles presided over by the matrons, who sat
under the shade of the trees and sorted the roses. The whole picture
was so bright and happy, in such harmony with the luxuriant beauty
surrounding it, that I was perfectly fascinated by it, and felt almost
envious of those happy beings (as I then thought them), the careless
simple children of nature. Their happiness was not for long.

It is not a week since my attention was attracted by an article in one
of our papers describing the destruction of Kezanlik and the horrors the
writer had witnessed. The once smiling and fruitful district was become
the valley of the shadow of death.

The general appearance of the villages in Bulgaria was very pleasing.
Those in the plains were not so well built or so picturesque as those
nestled among the hills, where the abundance and cheapness of the
material needed for building afforded greater facilities for more solid
and more artistic construction. Some of these villages had increased to
such an extent as to look like small towns. This was owing to the more
equal division of land among the people and the large number of landed
proprietors that cultivated it. In the midst of the difficulties that
surrounded them, such as an irregular and unequal system of taxation and
the encroachment and tyrannies of petty government officials, Zaptiehs,
Circassians, and sometimes native beys—the Bulgarian peasant, by his
steady and persevering habits of industry, managed to get on, and in
some places, when favored by circumstances, even to become wealthy. A
species of lending fund was organized (since the introduction of the
vilayet system) by the provincial government, chiefly for the benefit
of the peasant class of proprietors. The capital of this fund was
derived from an annual tax of two bushels of wheat (or their equivalent
in money) levied on every yoke of oxen owned by the farmers, and of
money contributed by those not engaged in agriculture, to the value of
one-tenth of their income-tax. The agricultural interest of the country
derived great advantage from this institution. It helped the small
farmers to borrow the sum needed for the cultivation of their crops and
the purchase of stock at a reasonable rate of interest, and enabled
those who had large estates to improve them without mortgaging; while
others were enabled to free their estates from the mortgages which
already burdened them. I believe that this excellent institution did not
long continue in working order, and that latterly it was beyond the reach
of those who really needed the money and might have benefited both their
farms and the State by its use.

As a general rule, the Bulgarian peasant is not wealthy. There are
many villages that were so deeply in debt that for years they had not
been able to pay their taxes. A rising was occasioned in one of the
villages of the district of Sofia on this account. The Pasha of Sofia
had been pressed by the Porte to send some money to Constantinople; he,
on his part, had to collect it from the people. Calling up a Chaoush
of Zaptiehs, he told him to make the round of the villages, and, under
pain of instant dismissal, not to return empty-handed. The Zaptieh was a
bandit, like many of his brethren who have represented the police corps
since the diminution of pay and abolition of the excellent body that had
been organized by the wise policy of Fuad Pasha and Ali Pasha. He marched
with his band into one of the villages and demanded that £400 should at
once be paid to him. The men were absent from the village, and the women,
not authorized to act in such matters, could not accede to his demand.
The Zaptiehs then seized some and locked them up in a barn, and, after
subjecting them to gross ill-treatment, left the village. The unfortunate
peasants, thus pressed by the authorities for taxes they could not pay,
and subjected to foul and violent treatment, revolted.

A Bulgarian cottage is neither neat nor regular in construction. A number
of poles are stuck in the ground, secured to each other by wattles,
plastered within and without with clay and cow-dung mixed with straw.
The walls are generally whitewashed, and the roof raised to a dome
covered with tiles or thatch. The interior, divided into three rooms, is
neat and clean. One of the apartments is used as the living-room of the
family, another as sleeping-room, while the third is reserved for storing
provisions and such-like domestic purposes. These rooms are of tolerable
height, and from fifteen to twenty feet long and ten to fifteen wide. The
earthen floor is hardened and covered with coarse matting and woollen
rugs, the handiwork of the inmates. The furniture consists principally of
the thick woven tissues used for bedding and carpeting.

Pictures of the saints and relics from Mount Athos adorn the walls; a
night-lamp may be seen suspended before the most venerated of these
objects, serving the double purpose of _veilleuse_ and mark of regard to
the saint. The shelves round the walls contain the crockery and shining
copper pans, a pair of pistols, and various other articles. The bedding,
neatly rolled up, is piled in one corner, while near the door stand
the jars of fresh water. Attached to these cottages are sheds for the
farm stock; and a cow-house, pig-sty, and poultry-house, an oven, and
sometimes a well, are inclosed in the yard, which is surrounded by walls
or fences, and guarded by dogs.

In the hilly districts, the cottages of both Mohammedans and Christians
are constructed with considerable solidity. The peasants throughout
European Turkey are economical and frugal; their wants are few, and they
are content with very little. They seldom taste fresh meat, and generally
live on rye bread and maize porridge, or beans seasoned with vinegar and
pepper. The dairy produce is consumed at home, and on great occasions
a young pig or lamb serves as a _pièce de résistance_, washed down by
home-made wine. For pastry they have a cake called _Banitza_, much
relished by all.

The clothing of the peasants is warm and comfortable. It is chiefly
composed of woollen stuffs, coarse linen, or cotton cloth. Every single
article of wearing apparel is woven, embroidered, and made up by the
hands of the women, who are at the same time spinners, weavers, and
tailors. When coming to town, and on _Prasnik_ days, coarse socks and
sandals are worn; these are also home-made, and their use on other
occasions is dispensed with.

The Bulgarian peasant is strong and healthy in appearance. Both in
Bulgaria and Macedonia he is a diligent worker. He may not have the
smartness and activity of the English laborer, but I have often been
assured that, notwithstanding the numerous feast-days he keeps, at the
end of the year he is found to have completed almost as much work, for
the simple reason that he makes his working-day much longer, and his
whole family turn out to assist him; for the women of these districts
are as industrious as the men: no sooner are their household tasks
accomplished than they join the paterfamilias in the field.

The German and Italian engineers who undertook the construction of the
railways in Macedonia repeatedly asserted that the labor of the natives
was equal to that of Europeans. In Macedonia, the Italian company, on
commencing operations, brought out five hundred Italian navvies to work
on the line; but on discovering that the natives, when well paid, well
treated, and shown how to set about it, did the work better than the
Italians, the latter were sent away. These gentlemen were most warm in
their praises of the steadiness of the men and of the excellence of their
work; but I must add that they did not omit to study the character of the
people and treat them with the kindness and consideration that, in the
long-run, never fail to improve and elevate even the most debased.

The Turkish peasants, who are in the minority both in Bulgaria and
Macedonia, have also a healthy appearance, added in the former place to
a look of audacity, and in the latter to a look of ferocity. The Greek
peasant is tall and rather slim, with an intelligent look and a hardy and
self-reliant expression.

All the rural population is sober. Greek and Bulgarian peasants have,
it is true, every now and then, an orgy; but there is no systematic
drunkenness. All the well-to-do farmers and peasants keep a provision
of wine and _raki_, or spirit, but their daily portion is moderate, and
excesses are only indulged in on feast-days, and even these are not of a
very serious nature.

All the villages, both Greek and Bulgarian, have their _Kodja-Bashis_,
who see to the administration of the village, proportion the taxes,
settle petty disputes, attend to the arrival and reception of guests,
Zaptiehs and troops, and other wants or necessities of the community.

The Turkish villages bear a more impoverished appearance and look more
neglected and decaying than the Christian. This is partly owing to the
seclusion of the women, who are little seen about, and, unlike the
Christian, never sit working at their doors. They are helpless; do no
field work, and very little weaving; and occupy themselves solely about
their in-door duties, and as these are not very heavy, they consequently
spend much of their time idly. The men are laborious, but not so active
and energetic as the Christians. They spend a good deal of time smoking
in the coffee-houses of the village, and are much poorer than the
Christians. This is due partly to their character and to the absence of
all help from their wives, but also in great part to the conscription,
which takes many valuable years of labor from the working-man.
Drunkenness is rare among Turks of this class, but when chance cases
occur they are of the most vicious and incurable kind.

In Macedonia landed property is more unequally divided than in Bulgaria.
Great portions of it are united in large estates held by native beys, or
by pashas and officials at Constantinople. Some of these estates comprise
an immense area, of which only a part is cultivated. They are called
_Chiftliks_; the house, or _Konak_, on the estate, is the residence of
the owner when he visits it, for he seldom resides on his property, but
is represented by a _Soubashi_, or agent. The elegance, dimensions,
and comfort of the Konak depend, of course, upon the means and habits
of the owner. Some of the more ancient of these edifices are large and
spacious, built in the style of the old Konaks at Stamboul; but they
present a still more dilapidated and neglected appearance. Others of more
recent erection are smaller, but neither more comfortable nor more tidy
in appearance. Some, again, are in the form of turrets, which, if not
elegant, have at least the merit of being as strong as small fortresses.
A large court-yard contains, beside the house, the usual farm buildings.
On entering the yard of the best regulated _Chiftlik_, the first thing
that attracts the attention is the air of complete disorder and dirt
that pervades the premises. In one or two corners may be seen heaps of
refuse, in others broken carts and farm implements standing in the midst
of mud-pools and filth of every description, including a collection of
old brooms that could never have been worn out in sweeping the place.
Among these, children, fowls, geese, ducks, and dogs roam in freedom. The
interior of the Konak is usually divided into Haremlik and Selamlik, if
sufficiently large. One or two rooms in each department may be furnished
with a few hard sofas and dingy calico curtains. The room reserved for
the master sometimes presents a somewhat better appearance, its walls
decorated with fire-arms, sometimes of beautiful workmanship, and its
furniture boasting a deal table and a few chairs. When the Bey intends
paying a long visit to his estate and is accompanied by his family,
the bedding and other household necessaries are brought from town. It
is astonishing to see how little luggage a Turkish family travels with
on such an occasion. Each person will have a _boghcha_,[6] containing
his or her wearing apparel; the articles for general use comprise a few
candlesticks, petroleum lamps, perhaps two _Leyen_[7] and _Ibrik_[8] for
ablutions, which in the morning and at meal times make the round of the
house; kitchen utensils and a few tumblers, plates, etc., are all that is
needed for the _Villeggiatura_ of a Turkish family.

The way in which the Bey spends his time on his estate is also regulated
by the means and tastes of the individual. If he be a sportsman, he
will have a battue on his lands and enjoy the pleasures of the chase.
Should he be addicted to drinking and debauchery, he has every means
of indulging his taste. His duties as landlord consist in regulating
accounts with his agent, hearing the cases that need his interference,
giving general instructions for future operations, and, above all,
realizing the profits. As to improving his estate, ameliorating the
condition of the tenants, beautifying the property by planting trees and
laying out gardens, such things are never thought of or known to have
been practised by any large land-owner in Macedonia.

The harem, on their side, bring friends to stay with them; and the days
are spent in roaming out barefooted in the most _négligés_ costumes,
eating fruit, and helping to make the winter provisions, such as
_Tarhana Kouskous_, _Youfka_,[9] _Petmaiz_,[10] _Rechel_,[11] and
_Nichesteh_.[12] No needlework is brought to fill up the leisure hours of
country life; the only amusements are the indecent conversation and the
practical jokes of the parasites who never fail to accompany such parties.

The villages owned by the bey are made up of the dwellings of the
tenants. These for the most part present a pitiable appearance of poverty
and misery, though their interiors are as clean as circumstances will
allow. They are constructed of mud and wattle, and divided into two
or three rooms, with small openings for windows, and open chimneys. A
fence incloses the house, together with the granary and cattle-shed. The
tenants are, with few exceptions, Christians, and are called _Yeradjis_.
They are poor, and look dejected and depressed, a demeanor I have
often heard superficial observers attribute to laziness and natural
worthlessness. This judgment may be just in some instances, but can by
no means be taken as generally correct; the people are as willing to
work and gain an honest living as those of any other land, but they
labor under certain disadvantages which merit attention, and which, when
carefully examined, will go far to justify their failings.

A Yeradji’s house costs from £30 to £50; sometimes it is built by the
landlord, sometimes by the tenant himself. This may happen for instance
when the Yeradji has a son to marry and the landlord refuses to build
a house for him, in which case he has to build it at his own expense,
and should he leave the estate, receives no compensation for it. These
_Chiftliks_ are cultivated on the Metayer system as it is understood
and practised in Macedonia: the landlord provides the seed in the first
instance, the Yeradji finds his own yoke of oxen or buffaloes and
implements, tills the ground, sows the grain, reaps it, threshes and
winnows it, and when the seed for the next year and the tithes have been
deducted, shares the produce with the landlord. The Metayer system on
a luxuriant soil like that of Macedonia would not only pay, but would
also contribute to increase the wealth of the estate and improve the
wretched condition of the Yeradji if it were only properly and equitably
administered. But it is not difficult to point out capital failings in
the working of the system. When the grain is cut, a certain number of
sheaves, forty for instance, of the finest and heaviest, are set aside as
samples. These are threshed separately, and the seed for the next year,
the tithes, and the landlord’s share deducted according to this standard,
which leaves the Yeradji an iniquitously small proportion of the produce.
Under this unfair arrangement the Yeradji has to give for every head of
cattle he possesses six Constantinople kilés of barley and six of wheat
to the _Soubashi_ of his bey.

In addition to these the Yeradji has to defray the heavy burden of his
own taxes, and the quartering of troops and Zaptiehs upon him, besides
other burdens, among which must be reckoned the wasted time of the
numerous feast-days, that deprive him of so much work in the year. Toil
as hard as he may, he can never become an independent and prosperous man.

When these estates are transferred by sale or other causes, the Yeradji,
should he be in debt to the estate, goes with it into a sort of bondage
terminable under certain conditions, viz.: his industry and activity
and the honesty of the landlord and his agent. If on one hand the
superabundance of feast-days is to be looked upon as a hindrance to the
Yeradji freeing himself from debt, the unscrupulous manner in which
his master or the Soubashi reckons accounts opposes fresh obstacles to
the breaking of the chain that binds him to the soil. Farm accounts
are generally kept by means of _chetolas_, or notched sticks, a very
primitive mode, leading to many errors being committed, wittingly or
unwittingly. The consequence is that all tenants are more or less in debt
to their landlords in the same manner as all Turkish landlords are in
debt to the Government or to private individuals.

The scarcity of Yeradjis and their disqualifications as tenants are now
a general complaint throughout Macedonia. It is not, however, surprising
that the better class of peasants should refuse to become Yeradjis, and
that the inferior classes, employed in their absence, should be found
fault with and be always in debt.

Of late years some of these estates have passed into the hands of
Christians, by purchase or mortgage. These proprietors, as a rule, do not
reside on their estates, which are left in the charge of an agent, but
content themselves with an occasional visit. When this property is well
situated, and (as seldom happens) free from litigation, it is said to be
a good investment.

Besides these Yeradji villages, there are the _Kephalochoria_, or
head-villages, composed of petty landholders, some of whom were formerly
wealthy, and might have continued so but for the injury done to them by
the forest regulations and the heavy impositions laid upon them by the
Government since the commencement of the war.

One of the principal grievances peasants labor under is the _angaria_,
or statute-labor, into which man, beast, and cart are impressed at the
command of a mere Zaptieh, causing a loss of time, and injury to property
and cattle, which is often fatal to an otherwise well-to-do village.
A village on a main road is never free from all kinds of vexatious
impositions and the quartering of Zaptiehs and troops, who, whether they
pay or not for what they have consumed, extort sums of money from their
hosts, and are always careful to take away with them a declaration from
the _Kodja-Bashi_ that all accounts have been settled.

The Angaria work lately exacted from the inhabitants of Cavalla for the
transport of flour for the use of the army was very nearly occasioning
troubles of a nature likely to prove fatal to the whole town. The
affair originated in the townspeople being required to carry on Sunday
loads which they willingly carried on Saturday. They refused, and shut
themselves up in their houses; whereupon an excess of zeal was displayed
by the police in trying to force them out by breaking into some of the
dwellings. This led to a slight disturbance which encouraged some noted
bad characters belonging to the Moslem population to take a menacing
attitude, and conspire to break into the offices of some of the principal
merchants of the town, ransack them, and then proceed to follow the
precedent with the rest of the town, threatening the Christians with
massacre. Panic soon spread, and the people shut themselves in their
churches. Men-of-war were telegraphed for, but luckily the local
authorities were able to put down the tumult, and order was restored
without loss of life. The incident is instructive in showing the
difficulties and dangers under which the Macedonian peasant carries on
his work. It is no wonder that the land is ill-cultivated.

Among the peasant farmers of Roumelia there is no regular system of
rotation of crops observed; but with the occupants of large estates the
ordinary rule for rich lands is two wheat crops and one of oats, then
fallow one or more years, wheat, and then sesame. In Macedonia, where
arable land is more abundant, one year’s rest is allowed to some lands.
The only manure some of these lands obtain is from the treading of the
sheep on the land in early spring and after the harvest is reaped, and
yet the soil is naturally so rich that a generally bad harvest is of
rare occurrence. The mode of cultivation is very primitive, employing
much hand labor and involving much waste. Tillage is performed with the
native plough, on an average depth of four inches to the furrow. The
instrument used for the purpose is very rude and has only one handle.
The number of buffaloes used varies from two to five. In Roumelia some
large estate owners attempted introducing agricultural implements from
Europe, but threshing-machines alone met with any success. In Macedonia
even these proved a failure, as their management is not understood, and
fuel is difficult to procure in the interior. In some parts the grain is
scattered over the stubble and then ploughed in. Much of the harvest is
done by young women and girls in Roumelia and Macedonia. They and the
male harvesters hire themselves for the June harvest. On the 21st August
the harvest-home is celebrated. Decked in their holiday costumes, crowned
with garlands, and carrying bouquets composed of ears of corn, the
reapers proceed to the nearest town to dance and sing before the doors of
the principal houses and in the market-place.

Threshing is performed in the most antique manner imaginable. The
instrument used for the purpose consists of two pieces of wood curved at
one end, fastened together, and studded with a number of flints. This
is attached at the curved end to a team of three or four horses. A girl
stands on this sledge and drives the team rapidly over the corn thrown
in bundles on the ground, which has been hardened and prepared for the
purpose. This process breaks the straw into very small lengths, making it
very palatable food for the cattle. The corn is winnowed by being thrown
up in the air with wooden shovels, the breeze carrying away the chaff. In
some parts of Macedonia the process is even more simple. A team of horses
is driven over the bundles of corn, treading out the grain. The women and
children also sit on the ground and help in the operation by beating it
with sticks.

The principal crops raised in Roumelia are wheat, barley, maize, rye,
oats, sesame, and canary-seed. A considerable quantity of rice is grown
in some parts. In the south, towards Adrianople, the vine reaches some
degree of perfection, and excellent wine is made, which, when kept for
some years, resembles sherry in taste and color. The mulberry grows
abundantly, and before the silkworm disease appeared in those districts
formed a very profitable branch of industry. The mulberry gardens
sometimes comprise several acres of land; when they are near towns or
large villages, the silkworm nurseries are placed in them. The rearing
process begins in early spring, with the budding of the leaves, and lasts
over two months. It is a very tedious and laborious work, requiring great
neatness and attention, and is generally undertaken by the women. When
the crop succeeds and is free from disease, it is an interesting process
to watch. In Macedonia the same crops are grown, with the addition of a
large supply of excellent tobacco. The best comes from Drama and Cavalla.

The cattle in Turkey, though small, are hardy and very serviceable.
Little attention has hitherto been paid by the Government towards
improving the breed. The sheep, too, are small, and their wool is of an
inferior quality. Those in Asiatic Turkey are mostly of the Karamanian,
or broad-tailed, breed. Their fat is much used by the natives for
cookery, and their milk made into cheese. Sheep-farming is carried on
to a great extent both in European and Asiatic Turkey. Buffaloes for
draft purposes and ploughing, and camels as beasts of burden, are very
numerous, especially in Asia Minor. Great numbers of goats are also kept;
their milk is much used for making cheese. The Angora goats are (I need
hardly say) much prized for their fleece. Their introduction into other
parts of the country has been attempted several times, but has invariably
failed. They do not thrive away from their native mountains.




CHAPTER IX.

TURKISH HOUSES.

    The Turkish Quarter—A _Konak_—Haremlik and Selamlik—Arrangement
    of Rooms—Furniture—The _Tandour_—Turkish Clemency towards
    Vermin—Bordofska—An Albanian _Konak_—The Pasha and his Harem—A
    Turkish _Bas-bleu_—Ruins of _Konaks_ outside Uskup—The Last of
    the Albanian Deri-Beys—A _Konak_ at Bazardjik—The Widow of the
    Deri-Bey—_Kiosks_—_Koulas_—A _Koula_ near Salonika—Christian
    Quarters—_Khans_—Furniture—Turkish Baths, Public and
    Private—Cafés.


Bright sunshine, fresh air, ample space, and pure water are indispensable
to the felicity of a Turk. Both in the capital and in provincial towns
the Turkish quarter is invariably situated in the most healthy and
elevated parts, and occupies, on account of the gardens belonging to
almost every Turkish house, double the ground of the Christian and Jewish
quarters. These gardens are all more or less cultivated, but, except in
the capital, where horticulture has obtained some degree of perfection,
they seldom display either taste or order. A few fine mulberry or other
fruit trees may be seen here and there overshadowing patches of ground
bordered with box or tiles, and planted with roses, lettuces, and garlic;
and in the gardens of the better class of houses one may often see pretty
fountains.

The streets of the Turkish quarter are narrow and irregular, and, except
in the principal thoroughfares, look solitary and deserted; they are,
however, cleaner than those of the Christian and Jewish quarters, and
this for three good reasons: they are little frequented; they are not
encumbered with rubbish, owing to the space the Turks possess in their
court-yards and gardens, where they can heap up most of the refuse that
the Christians have to throw into the streets; and they are better
patrolled by the street dogs, for these famous scavengers, being under
the special protection of the Mussulman, are more numerous in the Turkish
than in the other quarters, and eat up all the animal and vegetable
refuse.

A Turkish _konak_, or mansion, is a large building, very irregular in
construction, and without the slightest approach to European ideas
of comfort or convenience. This building is divided into two parts,
the _haremlik_ and the _selamlik_; the former and larger part is
allotted to the women, the latter is occupied by the men and is used
for the transaction of business, the purposes of hospitality, and
formal receptions. The stables are attached to it, forming part of the
ground-floor, and rendering some of the upper rooms rather unpleasant
quarters. A narrow passage leading from the _mabeyn_ (or neutral ground)
to the _haremlik_ joins the two establishments. The materials used for
building are wood, lime, mud, and stone for the foundations. A Konak
generally consists of two stories, one as nearly as possible resembling
the other, with abundant provision for the entrance of light and air.
A large hall, called the _devankhané_, forms the entrance into the
Haremlik; it is surrounded by a number of rooms of various sizes. To
the right, the largest serves as a sort of ante-chamber, the rest are
sleeping apartments for the slaves, with the exception of one called
_kahvé-agak_, where an old woman is always found sitting over a charcoal
brazier, ready to boil coffee for every visitor. A large double staircase
leads to the upper story, on one side of which is the _kiler_, or
store-room, and on the other the lavatories. The floors are of deal,
kept scrupulously clean and white, and in the rooms generally covered
with mats and rugs. The furniture is exceedingly poor and scanty; a hard
uncomfortable sofa runs along two and sometimes three sides of the room;
a _shelté_, or small square mattress, occupies each corner, surmounted
by a number of cushions piled one upon the other in regular order. The
corner of the sofa is the seat of the Hanoum, and by the side of the
cushions are placed her mirror and _chekmegé_.

A small European sofa, a few chairs placed stiffly against the wall, a
console supporting a mirror and decorated with two lamps or candlesticks,
together with a few goblets and a small table standing in the centre with
cigarettes and tiny ash-trays, complete the furniture of the grandest
provincial _Buyukoda_. Though some Turks possess many rare and curious
objects, such as ancient armor and china, which, if displayed, would
greatly add to the elegance and cheerfulness of their apartments, these
are always kept packed away in boxes.

Windows are the great inconvenience in Turkish houses; they pierce the
walls on every side, with hardly the space of a foot between them. The
curtains are usually of coarse printed calico, short and scanty, with the
edges pinked out, so that when washed they present a miserably ragged
appearance. The innumerable windows render the houses ill-adapted either
for hot or cold weather; the burning rays of the sun pour in all day in
summer, and the frames are so badly constructed that the cold wind enters
in all directions in winter.

Bedsteads are not used by the Turks; mattresses are nightly spread on
the floor, and removed in the morning into large cupboards, built into
the walls of every room. These walls, being whitewashed and roughly
furnished, increase the uncomfortable appearance of the rooms, which at
night are dimly lighted by one or two sperm candles or a petroleum lamp,
the successors of the ancient tallow candle. The halls and passages are
left in obscurity, and the servants find their way about as well as they
can.

The _mangals_, or braziers, are the warming apparatus generally used by
the Turks in their houses. These are made of different metal; some fixed
in wooden frames, others in frames of wrought brass of very elegant and
costly workmanship. The fuel consists of a quantity of wood ashes in
which burning charcoal is half buried.

The _tandour_, now nearly fallen into disuse, is also worthy of notice.
It consists of a square deal table with a foot-board covered with tin,
on which a brazier stands; the whole is covered with a thick quilted
counterpane which falls in heavy folds on a sofa running round it,
covering the loungers up to the chin, and giving one the idea of a
company of people huddled together in bed. The tandour is still very much
used in Smyrna, and round it the Levantine ladies love to sit during
the winter months. More than one English traveller, newly arrived in
the country, when ushered into a drawing-room, is said to have rushed
frantically out again under the impression that he had surprised the
family in bed.

The furniture of the _selamlik_ is similar to that of the Haremlik.
A family often removes from one set of apartments to another; this
propensity is doubtless stimulated by the desire to escape from the
assaults of the fleas and other vermin that swarm in the rooms. When once
these insects obtain a footing in a house, it is difficult to get rid
of them, partly on account of the unwillingness of the Turks to destroy
animal life of any description, and partly because these insects take up
their abode between the badly joined planks under the mats and rugs.

I was once visiting at the house of a Pasha lately arrived at Adrianople.
The Hanoum, a charming woman, was complaining bitterly to me of her rest
having been much disturbed the previous night by the abundance of these
creatures in her apartment. One of the slaves modestly remarked that she
had occupied herself all the morning in scalding the floor of the room
her mistress had slept in, and expressed a hope that she would not be
longer troubled in that respect. A general outcry against this slave’s
want of humanity was raised by all the women present, and a chorus of
“Yuzuk! Gunah!” (Pity! Sin!) was heard. It is curious that they raised
no such outcry when they heard of the frightful destruction of human
life that took place a few years later among their Christian neighbors in
Bulgaria, but a few miles from their own secure homes!

When in the interior I had the opportunity of visiting some Konaks worthy
of note; one of these called Bordofska, situated in the heart of Albania,
some leagues from Uskup, had been built as a country residence by the
famous Hevni Pasha. It was an immense building, solidly constructed of
stone at the expense and with the forced labor of the people, who were
pressed into the work. It occupied the middle of a large garden that
must have been beautiful in its time, and being surrounded by high walls
bore a strong resemblance to a feudal castle. This fine old building
had become the property of Osman Pasha, a venerable Turk of the old
school; all the furniture was European, and of a very rich and elegant
description, but looked worn and neglected. The aged Pasha received me
with the politeness and hospitality his nation knows so well how to show
when it pleases.

After an interchange of civilities, and having partaken of coffee, I was
invited to visit the harem. A hideous black monster, the chief of the
eunuchs, led the way through a long dark passage lined with forty of his
brethren, not more pleasant-looking than himself, who salaamed to me as I
passed.

My then limited experiences of the customs of harems made me regard this
gloomy passage and its black occupants with feelings of curiosity, not
unmingled with dread. The chief wife of Osman Pasha (for I believe he had
six others, besides slaves) was a very fat, elderly person, who showed
little disposition to give me the hearty and civil reception I had just
received from her husband, and I soon discovered that she belonged to
that peculiar class of Turkish women called _Soffous_—the _bas-bleus_
of Mohammedanism, bigoted zealots of the straitest sect of the Moslem
Pharisees.

On entering the room I found the Hanoum seated in her sofa corner, from
which she did not rise but merely gave a bend of the head, with a cold
“Né yaparsen?”[13] in response to my deep Oriental obeisance. She spoke
very little, and the few words she was obliged to utter were intermingled
with _Duvas_ she muttered; perhaps asking forgiveness for the sin she
was committing in holding direct intercourse with a _Giaour_. The
other wives, who were all pretty and gay, tried to make amends for the
ill-humor of their _doyenne_, and were as kind and amiable as etiquette
would allow in her presence.

Four other Konaks of the same description may still be seen outside the
town of Uskup, standing alongside in melancholy decay. The first and
largest was intended for the residence of the once powerful Hevni Pasha
himself; the second for his son, and the two others for his daughters. I
was deeply impressed by the sight of these imposing ruins, and visited
them with the double object of satisfying my curiosity and ascertaining
the possibility of lodging myself in some habitable corner of one of
them during my stay in the neighborhood. The interior was well worth
seeing, and comprised splendid apartments, the walls and ceilings being
decorated with gildings and elaborate carvings in walnut wood. The baths
of sculptured marble could still be taken as models of that luxurious
and indispensable appendage to a Turkish house. A wing of one of these
buildings was habitable; but when I proposed to install myself in it,
some natives who had accompanied our party objected, saying the houses
were _hursous_ and _nahletli_, having been cursed by the people at whose
expense, and by whose unrequited labor, they had been erected. Even
the beasts, they said, that had carried the heavy loads of building
material were seen to look up to heaven and groan under the pressure of
their burdens; and a prophet of the place had foretold the downfall of
the owner on the day of the completion of the work. This prophecy was
fulfilled to the letter, for on the day the Pasha was to have entered his
new abode, the Turkish Government, suspicious of his growing power and
wealth, managed to lay hands upon him.

This Deri-Bey[14] is said to have been a wonderfully intelligent man,
counterbalancing many of his tyrannical actions by the zealous care he
showed in promoting the individual safety of his people and in increasing
their prosperity. Though entirely uneducated, his natural talents were
great enough to enable him to comprehend the advantages of modern
civilization, and to lead him to introduce some recent inventions into
the country; he also attempted to render the river Vardar (the ancient
Axius) navigable.

Hevni Pasha and his _voïvodes_, or captains, twenty-five or thirty years
ago, may be looked upon as the last representatives of the chiefs of the
wild Albanian clans, who at that time still refused to recognize the
authority of the Porte, and when pressed to do so broke out into open
rebellion. Badjuksis Ahmet Pasha, then a mere colonel, marched with his
regiment upon Uskup, one of the principal strongholds of the Albanians,
and, partly by stratagem and partly by threats, managed to penetrate into
the town and take possession of the fortress. In the meantime, Frank
Omar Pasha, the field-marshal, came with some regular troops to his
assistance, having previously defeated the Albanians in battle at Kaplan,
and dispersed them into the plains. He surrounded the town, and invited
Hevni Pasha with his captains and the principal beys of the town into the
fortress to hear the Imperial Firman read. This ceremony being concluded
without disturbance, Hevni Pasha and such of his party as were likely
to continue their resistance to the orders of the Porte were requested
by the military authorities to mount at once the horses that had been
surreptitiously prepared for them, and were conveyed under escort to
Constantinople, whence they were sent into exile, their families being
sent after them, and their goods confiscated. Notice was next given to
the rest of the native beys that, should any of them be found in direct
or indirect communication with the scattered bands of Albanians, or
sending provisions to them, the guns of the fortress would be turned upon
the town, which would be razed to the ground. This was a master-stroke
on the part of the Government; the Albanians, after a few vain attempts
at Monastir, Vrania, Philippopolis, and other places, to resist the
authority of the Sultan, partially submitted and returned to their
impregnable mountain fastnesses; not, however, without having committed
some barbarities similar to those recently enacted in Bulgaria.

During my trip to Bazardjik, I visited another konak: it belonged to
Kavanos Oglou, another of the too famous Deri-Beys, who had acquired
complete control over his part of the country, and who was similarly
seized by the Porte, despoiled of his possessions, and sent into exile.
This konak was an immense quadrangular building, inclosing a court-yard
with a veranda running round it supported on massive wooden pillars. Upon
this veranda a hundred rooms opened. The house was low and clumsy in
appearance, but timber of remarkable size and solidity had been used in
its construction.

At the time of my visit it was abandoned; the doors and windows had
disappeared, giving to the edifice an appearance of solitude and
emptiness, rendered still more dismal by the presence of innumerable
bats and owls, its only occupants. The old dungeon, with its cruel
associations, could still be traced in a low building, about thirty
feet long and twenty wide, surrounded by a wall of immense thickness
and strongly roofed. For windows nothing was seen but a few slits. The
interior on one side was occupied by a double wall, with just enough
space between to admit a person in a standing position; in this the
offenders against the laws, and the victims of vendetta, were squeezed,
secured by heavy chains that hung at equal distances from iron rings.
A well, now filled up, occupied the centre, into which the heads of
decapitated prisoners were thrown, to disappear in the dismal darkness of
its depths.

I was not sorry to leave this cheerless scene of former despotism and
present decay, and to turn my steps towards a gate on the opposite
side of the garden leading into a kiosk more modern in appearance than
the house, though bearing traces of decay. This last refuge of a once
powerful family was occupied by Azizié Hanoum Effendi, the much-respected
widow of the tyrant. Her two sons, who occupied inferior positions under
Government, were absent. The descendants of Kavanos Oglou continue to
be much respected in the country in spite of their downfall and the
confiscation of their property. The venerable lady into whose presence I
was ushered bore, notwithstanding her advanced age, traces of a beauty
that must have been perfect in its bloom. She was a fine tall blonde
of the Circassian type, of a commanding appearance, softened by the
sweet dignity of fallen sovereignty, before whom I felt I could bow the
knee and kiss the hand she graciously extended to me. I had a long and
interesting conversation with her on the state of the country, which
she described as having been more flourishing under the rule of her
husband than at this time. “But,” said she, with a sigh, “God ordains all
things, casting some into misfortunes and raising others into prosperity,
according as Kismet has prepared for all. _Allah Kerim!_”

       *       *       *       *       *

Every one has heard or read of a _kiosk_, the indispensable pleasure-seat
of a Turk. The imperial and other kiosks on the Bosphorus are miniature
palaces, luxuriously furnished, whose elegance and beauty are only
equalled by the incomparable advantages of their situation on the richest
of soils and beneath the sunniest of skies. Kiosks may be situated
anywhere, and may comprise a suite of apartments or be limited to one;
they are light and airy in style, generally commanding a fine prospect,
often floored with marble, and containing a _shadravan_, or sculptured
fountain, playing in the midst; a range of sofas runs all round the
walls, on which the Turk loves to sit for hours together lost in
meditation, and in the fumes of his inseparable companion the _nargilé_.

The interiors of old kiosks and konaks used to be ornamented with a
peculiar open woodwork of arabesque design decorating the walls and
ceilings, but this is now completely out of fashion. The ceiling of a
house I formerly inhabited was decorated with this work, and attracted
the attention of all travellers. One, an Englishman, was so much struck
with it on entering the room, that hardly had he bowed to the company
before he asked permission to make a sketch of it. We were so accustomed
to similar displays of originality in British tourists that the request
was at once granted.

A _koula_ is a high turret found on every large _chiftlik_, or farm, and
used as a refuge in case of assault by brigands; it is a quadrangular
edifice, from three to four stories high; the lowest is used as a granary
and for storing seeds and other valuable property belonging to the farm;
the others, light and airy, are reserved for the habitation of the owner
of the chiftliks during his occasional visits to his property.

The last stronghold of this description I visited was the property of a
British subject in the district of Salonika. It was solidly constructed,
with massive iron doors and shutters, and some years ago resisted the
assault of a band of brigands who besieged it for three days, till the
arrival of a corps of Zaptiehs occasioned their hasty disappearance. The
marks of their bullets may still be seen on the doors and shutters, but
no further damage was done.

There is no very marked difference between the quarters of the town
occupied by Christians and those occupied by Turks. The Christians’
houses are built very much in the same style, though they are not so
large, and open directly on the street, with shops in their lower stories
in the principal thoroughfares. The windows are free from the lattices
invariably seen in a Turkish _haremlik_. There is much more life and
animation in a Christian or Jewish quarter, partly in consequence of one
house being occupied by several families. This is especially the case
among the lower orders of Jews, where one may count as many families as
there are rooms in a house.

In most Eastern towns the Jewish quarters, containing the fish, meat,
and vegetable markets, are the most unclean, and consequently the most
unhealthy. Few sanitary regulations exist, and little attention is paid
to them or to the laws of hygiene. The streets are frequently nearly
impassable, and some of the dwellings of the poor are pestilential, the
hotbeds of every epidemic that visits the country.

Most of the ancient khans, warehouses, and bazars at Stamboul, and in
large provincial towns, are fine solidly constructed edifices. The bazars
are of a peculiarly Oriental style of architecture, and appear well
adapted to the use for which they were designed—the display and sale of
goods. In the interior, however, many of these bazars are neglected, and
some left to decay have been by degrees abandoned by the tenants of the
innumerable shops they once contained.

The _charshi_, or market-place, consists of an incongruous assemblage of
shops, huddled together without any attempt at architecture or regard
to appearances; for the most part protected only by large shutters that
are raised in the morning and lowered at night. A low platform of boards
occupies the greater part of the interior, in the front corner of which
the shopkeeper sits on a little carpet, cross-legged, with a wooden safe
by his side and his account-book and pipe within easy reach, ever ready
to attend to the wants of his customers. Rows of shelves, constructed in
recesses in the walls, serve as receptacles for his goods.

The _khans_, or warehouses, in towns are used as deposits for merchandise
and for the transaction of business by merchants and bankers who
have offices in them. A series of hostelries of all descriptions and
dimensions, also called khans, some built of stone and others of timber,
exist in large numbers in all parts of the country, serving as hotels
to travellers and store-rooms for merchandise during transit. The ruins
of the most ancient of these, built by the Turks at the time of the
conquest, and used by them as blockhouses, still exist on the main roads
and in some of the principal towns. By the side of these substantial
stone buildings have arisen a number of miserable edifices dignified with
the name of khan, with whose discomforts the weary traveller too often
makes sad acquaintance.

The furniture of wealthy Greek houses in Constantinople is European;
in those of Jews and Armenians of high position it is a compromise
between European and Turkish. All Orientals are fond of display; they
like to build large houses and ornament their reception rooms in a gaudy
manner; but the _ensemble_ lacks finish and comfort. At A⸺ I had fixed
upon an old Turkish konak as my residence; but on coming to inhabit it
I discovered that extensive alterations and improvements must be made
before it approached in the remotest degree to my idea of an English
home. Some officious person, at a loss to understand the object of
these changes, gave notice to the proprietor that his tenant was fast
demolishing his house, upon which the good old Turk asked if she were
building it up again, and being answered in the affirmative, quietly
said, “_Brak yupsen!_” (_laissez faire!_)

The furniture found in the dwellings of all the lower classes is much
the same throughout the country; a Turkish sofa, a few deal chairs, and
a table serving for every purpose. The bedding is placed on the floor at
night and removed in the morning. But if furniture is scanty, there is no
lack of carpets and copper kitchen utensils, both being considered good
investments by the poor.

Before concluding this chapter I must not forget to describe one of the
most necessary adjuncts to a Turkish house—the bath. In a large house,
or konak, this is by far the best fitted and most useful part of the
whole establishment. A Turkish bath comprises a suite of three rooms; the
first—the _hammam_—is a square apartment chiefly constructed of marble,
and terminating in a kind of cupola studded with a number of glass bells,
through which the light enters. A deep reservoir, attached to the outer
wall, with an opening into the bath, contains the water, half of which
is heated by a furnace built under it. A number of pipes, attached to
the furnace, circulate through the walls of the bath and throw great
heat into it. One or two graceful fountains conduct the water from the
reservoir, and on each side of the fountain is a low wooden platform
which serves as a seat for the bather, who sits cross-legged, and
undergoes a long and complicated process of washing and scrubbing, with a
variety of other toilet arrangements too numerous to mention.

The second room, called the _saouklouk_, is constructed very much in
the same style as the first, but is smaller, and has no furniture but a
marble platform upon which mattresses and cushions are placed for the
use of those who wish to repose between intervals of bathing, or do not
wish to face the cooler temperature of the _hammam oda_. This room is
furnished with sofas, on which the bathers rest and dress after quitting
the bath.

Turkish women are very fond of their bath, and are capable of remaining
for hours together in that hot and depressing atmosphere. They smoke
cigarettes, eat fruits and sweets, and drink sherbet, and finally, after
all the blood has rushed to their heads, and their faces are crimson,
they wrap themselves in soft burnouses, and pass into the third or outer
chamber, where they repose on a luxurious couch until their system
shakes off part of the heat and languor that the abuse of these baths
invariably produces. A bath being an indispensable appendage to every
house, one is to be found in even the poorest Turkish dwelling. Some
more or less resemble a regular _hammam_, others are of a very simple
form—often a tiny cabinet attached to one of the rooms, containing a
bottomless jar buried in the ground, through which the water runs. I
consider these little baths, which are neither expensive nor require much
space, excellent institutions in the houses of the poor as instruments
of cleanliness. The constant and careful ablutions of the Turk are
the principal preventives to many diseases, from which they are,
comparatively speaking, freer than most nations.

The public baths, resorted to by all classes, are to be found in numbers
in every town. They are fine buildings, exact copies of the old Roman
baths, many of which are still in existence, defying the march of
centuries and the work of decay. Like the home baths, they consist of
three spacious apartments. The outer bath-room is a large stone building
lighted by a cupola, with wooden platforms running all round, upon which
small mattresses and couches are spread for the men; but the women, not
having the same privilege, are obliged to bring their own rugs, upon
which they deposit their clothes, tied up in bundles, when they enter,
and repose and dress upon them on coming out of the bath. A fountain of
cold water is considered indispensable in this apartment, and in the
basin surrounding it may be seen water-melons floating about, placed
there to cool while their owners are in the inner bath.

The bath itself contains a number of small rooms, each of which can be
separately engaged by a party, or used in common with the other bathers.
It is needless to say that the baths used by men are either separate or
are open at different hours.

Turkish women, independently of their home baths, must resort at least
once a month to the public _hammam_. They like it for many reasons, but
principally because it is the only place where they can meet to chat over
the news of the day and their family affairs.

Some of these baths, especially the mineral ones at Broussa, are of the
finest description. Gurgutly, containing the sulphureous springs, is
renowned for the remarkable efficacy of its waters, its immense size,
and the elegant and curious style of its architecture. It comprises
two very large apartments, one for the use of the bathers previous to
their entering the bath, the other the bath itself. This is an immense
room, with niches all round containing fountains in the form of shells,
which receive part of the running stream; in front of these are wooden
platforms, on which the bathers collect for the purpose of washing their
heads and scrubbing their bodies. On the left, as you enter, stands an
immense marble basin, seven feet in length and three in width, into which
the mother stream gushes with impetuous force. From this it runs into a
large round basin about ten feet in depth, in which dozens of women and
children may be seen swimming, an exhausting process, owing to the high
temperature of the water and its sulphureous qualities. This wonderful
basin is in the shape of a reversed dome, sunk into the marble floor,
which is supported underneath by massive columns.

Coffee-houses are to be met with everywhere, and are very numerous in
the towns. The Turks resort to them when they leave their homes early in
the morning, to take a cup of coffee and smoke a nargilé before going to
business. In the evening, too, they step in to have a chat with their
neighbors and hear the news of the day. Turkish newspapers have become
pretty common of late in these quiet rendezvous, and are to be found
in the most unpretending ones. Few of these establishments possess an
inviting exterior or can boast any arrangements with regard to comfort
or accommodation; a few mats placed upon benches, and a number of
common osier-seated chairs and stools, are the seats afforded in them.
Small gardens may be found attached to some, while others atone for the
deficiencies of their interiors by the lovely situations they occupy in
this picturesque and luxurious land.




CHAPTER X.

THE SERAGLIO.

    The Chain of Palaces along the Bosphorus—_Eski Serai_, the
    oldest of the Seraglios—Its Site and Appearance—Beauty
    of its Gardens—Contrasts—Its Destruction—_Dolma-Bagché_
    and _Begler-Bey_—Enormous Expenditure of Abdul-Medjid and
    Abdul-Aziz on Seraglios—_Yahlis_, or Villas—_Begler-Bey_
    furnished for Illustrious Guests—Delicate Attentions of the
    Sultan—Furniture of Seraglios—Mania of Abdul-Aziz—Everything
    Inflammable thrown into the Bosphorus—Pleasure
    Grounds—Interior Divisions of the Seraglio—The _Mabeyn_—The
    Padishah _en négligé_—Imperial Expenditure—Servants,
    etc.—Food—Wages—Stables—Fine Art—Origin of the Inmates of
    the Seraglio—Their Training—Adjemis—A Training-School for
    the Seraglio—Ranks in the Seraglio—The _Bash Kadin Effendi_
    and other Wives—_Hanoums_, or Odalisks—Favorites—Equal
    Chances of Good Fortune—Ceremonies attending the Sultan’s
    Selection of an Odalisk—A Slave seldom sees the Sultan
    more than once—Consequent Loss of Dignity and Misery for
    the rest of her Life—Precarious Position of Imperial
    Favorites—Intrigues and Cabals in the Seraglio—Good
    Fortune of the Odalisk who bears a Child—Fashions in
    Beauty—Golden Hair—The _Validé Sultana_—The _Hasnadar
    Ousta_—Ignorance and Vice of the Seraglio Women—The Better
    Class—The Consumptive Class—The “Wild Serailis”—Amusements
    of the Seraglio—Theatre—Ballet—Shopping—Garden Parties in
    Abdul-Medjid’s Time—Imperial Children—Foster-Brothers—Bad
    Training and Deficient Education of Turkish Princes and
    Princesses.


There are more than twenty Imperial Palaces, variously named, according
to their size and character, seraglios, yahlis, and kiosks, scattered
about Constantinople, some on the Bosphorus, others inland, but all
equally to be admired as striking spectacles of Eastern magnificence.
Dolma-Bagché and Beshiktash, linked with other mansions and kiosks,
mingling European architecture with Oriental decoration, form a chain of
splendid palaces such as can be seen nowhere but on the historic shores
of the Bosphorus.

The most renowned of the Ottoman palaces was Eski Serai, on the point of
land where the Bosphorus enters the Sea of Marmora. Built on the site of
old Byzantium by Mehemet II., this celebrated palace was enlarged and
beautified according to the wants and caprices of each successive sultan.
It presented to the eye a crowded pile of vast irregular buildings,
crowned by gilded cupolas and girt with shaded gardens. Beautiful
mosques, varied with hospitals and other charitable foundations, were
scattered about in detached groups, amid clusters of stately cypresses
and the burial-grounds of kings. Here might be seen a gorgeous pavilion,
there a cool jet, here again a mysterious building with high impenetrable
walls and latticed windows, the monotonous dwelling-place of bright
young creatures who, once engaged, were rarely permitted to regain their
freedom. And there, dwarfing all else, rose the tall white minarets,
accenting their clear outlines against the tender sky of the East. In
this irregular confusion the artist saw one of the choicest sights of
the capital; and a closer view offered to the curious a clear and minute
conception of the palace of an Eastern despot.

All was there: the gorgeous and the squalid, the refined and the
loathsome, the splendid state rooms of the Vicar of God, beside the
gloomy cages of those unhappy princes, who, cursed by their royal blood,
were left to pine in solitude until death came to settle accounts
between them and the tyrants who had doomed them to their chains. There
were the charitable establishments whence the poor never turned away
unrefreshed,—and there the dungeon where the powerful were left to starve
and die. There was the gilded kiosk where the Padishah smoked his chibouk
and issued his decrees,—whose terrible ordinances were carried out in
the adjoining chamber-of-blood. Beyond were the mausoleums of his race,
lifting up their rich adornment in the chill beauty of the city of the
dead—severed by a little space from the scarcely more splendid dwellings
of the living. There lay those doomed princes to whom a life without
liberty and ofttimes a cruel death were ill balanced by the useless
splendor of their tombs. “What is the use of thy getting children,” once
with a mother’s bitterness said a Circassian slave who had borne a son to
one of the sultans, “when they are only destined to people the tombs?”

In later times Eski Serai was abandoned to the use of the harems of
deceased sultans, who were sometimes shut up there for life. Its last
occupants, the multitudes of wives, slaves, and odalisks belonging once
to Sultan Abdul-Medjid, unable any longer to endure its dismal solitude,
are reported to have set it on fire in the hope of obtaining a dwelling
more congenial to the habits of comparative liberty they had acquired. At
all events the palace was destroyed, and a vast number of valuable and
rare objects perished with it. The site is now occupied by gardens, and
a railroad runs across it; the gem of the Golden Horn has vanished.

Dolma-Bagché, built by Sultan Mahmoud II., was a large wooden edifice.
This and Begler-Bey became the usual winter and summer residences
of the imperial family. Sultan Abdul-Medjid, on coming to power,
rebuilt Dolma-Bagché and several other kiosks and seraglios. Gentle,
sensitive, refined, and loth to shed blood, he is said to have evinced
a superstitious aversion to the old imperial palaces whose splendor was
tainted by the memory of the crimes of his ancestors. He, and still more
his brother Adbul-Aziz, spent incalculable sums in the erection and
decoration of seraglios. The latter’s yearly expenses on this alone were
reckoned to have exceeded £580,000—one of the items which ran away with
the money which trusting or speculative capitalists of Europe had been
foolish enough to supply for the future benefit and improvement of Turkey
(not, of course, forgetting a slice in the pie for themselves), but which
has fallen somewhat short of the end for which it was designed: Turkish
bondholders do not seem to consider themselves of all men the most
fortunate, and Turkey itself has not gained by loading its exchequer with
a mountain of debt for the sake of the reckless extravagance of imperial
luxury.

Holding a middle place between the great palaces and the kiosks, the
sultans of Turkey possess _yahlis_, or villas, not less beautiful than
the mansions of greater pretensions. These villas often rise on the
shores of the Bosphorus from a bed of verdure. Generally they are closed
and silent, with a solitary guard standing sentinel at the gate; but
every now and then one of them may be seen lighted up, as by magic, and
teeming with life, with the rumbling of carriages to and fro, and the
clashing of arms. At the sound of the trumpet a strain of sweet music
strikes up, and the approach of a water-procession of caïques swiftly
gliding towards the gates announces the arrival of the august master.

Sometimes the sultan goes alone to spend a few hours of _dolce far
niente_; at others he makes an appointment with some special favorite
to meet him there. Abdul-Medjid’s known partiality for Bessimé Sultana,
the most worthless but most beloved of his wives, induced him on one
occasion, while on a visit to his Yahli at the sweet waters of Asia,
to send his own yacht for her in the dead of night, alarming the whole
seraglio by its unexpected appearance at so unusual an hour.

One of the three palaces most renowned for beauty of architecture
and magnificence of furniture is Begler-Bey. It is worthy of the use
for which it has been selected, of being the palace offered for the
occupation of illustrious foreign visitors. The arrangements made in it
for one imperial guest were presided over by Sultan Abdul-Aziz in person,
and the private apartments of the illustrious lady were perfect copies of
those in her own palace. The fastidiousness of the host on this occasion
was so great, that on discovering that the tints on the walls and
furniture slightly differed from those he had seen when on his European
tour, he ordered that everything should be removed and new ones brought
from Paris. The fair visitor is said to have been equally surprised
and flattered by the delicate attention that had not omitted even the
smallest object of her toilette table. The Sultan, in truly Oriental
fashion, caused a new pair of magnificent slippers, embroidered with
pearls and precious stones, to be placed before her bed every morning.

Since the time of Sultan Abdul-Medjid, the furniture of the imperial
palaces and kiosks has been made to order in Europe. It is of so costly
a description as to be equal in value to the edifices themselves. On
entering Tcheragan, and some of the other serails, the eye is dazzled
by the gilt decorations, gold and silver brocades, splendid mirrors
and chandeliers, and carved and inlaid furniture they contain. In
Abdul-Medjid’s time, clocks and china vases were the only ornaments
of the apartments. The absence of pictures, books, and the thousand
different objects with which Europeans fill their houses gave the rooms,
even when inhabited, a comfortless and unused appearance.

Some years ago, when visiting the private apartments of this Sultan, I
noticed a splendid antique vase. Lately, on speaking of this priceless
object to a seraglio lady, I was informed that it had been thrown into
the Bosphorus by order of its owner. This act of imperial extravagance
was caused by the supposition that the vase had been handled by some
person afflicted with consumption.

Sultan Abdul-Aziz, a year or two before his dethronement, possessed
with a nervous terror of fire, caused all inflammable articles to be
taken out of the palaces, and replace them by articles manufactured of
iron. The stores of fuel were cast into the Bosphorus, and the lights
of the Sultan’s apartments were placed in basins of water. The houses
in the neighborhood of the Seraglio were purchased by the Sultan, their
occupants forced to quit at a very short notice, their furniture turned
out, and the buildings pulled down at once. These tyrannical precautions
served to heighten the general discontent of the capital against the
Padishah especially among the poor, who justly complained that they might
have benefited by what had been wasted; while some of the wealthy, though
not more contented, profited by the freak, and carried off many of the
rich objects taken out of the palace.

The vast pleasure-grounds attached to the seraglios are laid out with
a tasteful care, which, added to the beauty of the position and the
fertility of the soil, goes far to justify the renown of the gardens of
the Bosphorus. The hills, valleys, and gorges that surround them are
covered with woods; here orchards and vineyards, weighed down with their
rich burdens, lend color to the scene; there the slopes are laid out
in terraces, whose perpendicular sides are clothed with the contrasted
shades of the sombre ivy-leaf and the bright foliage of the Virginian
creeper. Banks of flowers carry the thoughts back to the hanging gardens
of Babylon. Nature and art have ornamented these delightful spots with
lakes, fountains, cascades, aviaries, menageries, and pavilions. “Here
in cool grot” every opportunity is offered for love-making, and if this
one is already engaged, there are highly romantic nooks, concealed by
overhanging boughs, that will answer the purpose as well. Trees and
plants seem to rejoice in the bright sunshine; the birds’ songs mingle
strangely with the roar of the wild beasts from which the Sultan is
perhaps trying to learn a lesson of humanity; and gorgeous butterflies
hover round, kissing the sweet blossoms that fill the air with their
fragrance. Here the ladies of the harem, when permitted to escape for
a time from their cages, roam at liberty like a troop of school-girls
during recreation hours, some making for the orchards, others dispersing
in the vineyards, with screams of laughter and wild frolic that would
astonish considerably any European garden party. The conservatories and
flower beds suffer terribly during these incursions, and great is the
despair of the head-gardener.[15]

A Seraglio, like all Moslem dwellings, is divided into Haremlik and
Selamlik. The former is reserved for the family life of the Sultan and
his women; the latter is accessible to officials who come to transact
state business with his Highness. The Mabeyn consists of a number of
rooms between the two great divisions, and may be considered the private
home of the Sultan. It is here that the Padishah resorts between nine
and ten in the morning, attired in his _gedjlik_, or morning négligé;
consisting of a _tekké_, or white skull-cap; a bright-colored _intari_
(dressing-gown) and _eichdon_ (trousers) of similar material; a pair
of roomy _terliks_ (slippers), a _kirka_ (quilted jacket), or a _kirk_
(pelisse lined with fur), according to the season.

Thus attired, he resorts to his study and gives his attention to
state affairs, or to any other occupations that suit his tastes and
inclinations. Close by are the apartments where the gentlemen of the
household, the private secretaries, and other functionaries, await their
Imperial Master from sunrise.

An account I recently saw of the Imperial expenditure estimated
the annual outlay of Sultan Abdul-Aziz at £2,000,000. The Palace
contained 5500 servants of both sexes. The kitchens alone required 300
functionaries, and the stables 400. There were also about 400 caïkjis,
or boatmen, 400 musicians, and 200 attendants who had the charge of the
menageries and aviaries. Three hundred guards were employed for the
various palaces and kiosks, and about 100 porters. The harem, besides
this, contained 1200 female slaves.

In the Selamik might be counted from 1000 to 1500 servants of different
kinds. The Sultan had twenty-five “aides-de-camp,” seven chamberlains,
six secretaries, and at least 150 other functionaries, divided into
classes, each having its special employment.

One is intrusted with the care of the Imperial wardrobe, another with the
pantry, a third with the making and serving of the coffee, and a fourth
with the pipes and cigarettes.

There were also numberless attendants who carried either a torch, or a
jug of perfumed water for ablutions after a repast. There is a chief
barber, a superior attendant who has special charge of the games of
backgammon and draughts, another superintends the braziers, and there
are at least fifty kavasses, and one hundred eunuchs; and the harem has
also at its service a hundred servants for going on errands and doing
commissions in Stamboul and Pera.

Altogether, the total number of the employés of the Palace is about 5500.
But this is not all; these servants employ also other persons beneath
them, so that every day 7000 persons are fed at the expense of the
Palace. So great is the disorder in the organization that the contractors
claim five francs per diem for the food of each of these 7000 persons,
which amounts to £511,000 per annum for the employés only.

The various items comprise £1120 for wood, £1040 for rice, and £16,000
for sugar.

The wages of employés included in the civil list amounted to a total of
£200,000, exclusive of the salaries of aides-de-camp, doctors, musicians,
etc., which were paid by the minister of war.

The stables of the Palace contained 600 horses, whose provender,
according to the estimates of the most reasonable contractors, cost three
Turkish liras per month, making a total of about £20,000.

More than 200 carriages of every description were kept in the palace.
These were for the most part presents from the Viceroy of Egypt, but the
expenses of the 150 coachmen and footmen with their rich liveries are
paid by a civil list, also the harness-maker’s accounts, and other items
of this department.

The annual expenditure for pictures, porcelain, etc., was never less than
£140,000, and in one year Sultan Abdul-Aziz spent £120,000 for pictures
only. As for jewels, the purchases attained the annual sum of £100,000,
and the expenses of the harem for presents, dresses, etc., absorbed
£160,000 per annum.

Besides these items, the allowances to the mother and sisters of the
Sultan, to his nephews and nieces, and to the heir-apparent, amounted to
£181,760. This gives a total of at least £1,300,000 annually. To this
must be added £80,000 for keeping in repair the existing Imperial kiosks
and palaces, and £580,000 for the construction of new ones. The Imperial
revenue in the civil list was £1,280,000. The expenditure was really over
£2,000,000.

I am unable to give an estimate of the expenses of the seraglio of
the present Sultan, but I have been informed on good authority that
his Majesty personally superintends the management of the palace, and
regulates its expenditure with great wisdom and economy; it will take
some time, however, to put an end to the disorder, corruption, and
irregularity that have become so rooted in the whole system, and caused
the extravagance and waste that prevailed in the households of former
sultans. A Turkish proverb says, “Baluk bashtan kokar,” “The fish begins
to decompose at the head;” accordingly, if the head be sound there is
every hope that the body will also keep fresh.

The haremlik of the Seraglio contains from 1000 to 1500 women, divided
among the Sultan’s household; that of his mother, the Validé Sultana; and
those of the princes.

This vast host of women of all ranks, ages, and conditions are, without
exception, of slave extraction, originating from the cargoes of slaves
that yearly find their way to Turkey from Circassia, Georgia, Abyssinia,
and Arabia, in spite of the prohibition of the slave-trade. These
slaves are sold in their native land by unnatural relations, or torn
from their homes by hostile tribes, to be subsequently handed over to
the slave-dealers, and brought by them into the capital and other large
towns. All these women are the offspring of semi-barbarous parents, who
seldom scruple to sell their own flesh and blood. Born in the hovel of
the peasant or the hut of the fierce chieftain, their first condition
is one of extreme ignorance and barbarism. Possessed with the knowledge
of no written language, with a confused idea of religion mixed up with
the superstitious practices that ignorance engenders; poorly clad,
portionless, and unprotected, they are drawn into the seraglio by chains
of bondage, and go under the denomination of _Adjemis_ (rustics). No
matter how low had been their starting-point, their future career
depends solely upon their own good fortune. Their training in the
seraglio is regulated by the vocations for which they are destined; those
chosen to fulfil domestic positions, such as negresses and others not
highly favored by nature, are put under the direction of _kalfas_, or
head-servants, and taught their respective duties.

The training they receive depends upon the career to which their age,
personal attractions, and color entitle them. The young and beautiful,
whose lot has a great chance of being connected with that of his Imperial
Majesty, or some high dignitary to whom she may be presented by the
Validé or the Sultan as odalisk or wife, receives a veneer composed of
the formalities of Turkish etiquette, elegance of deportment, the art
of beautifying the person, dancing, singing, or playing on some musical
instrument. To the young and willing, instruction in the rudiments of the
Turkish language is given; they are also initiated in the simpler forms
of Mohammedanism taught to women, such as the _Namaz_ and other prayers
and the observance of the fasts and feasts. Most of them are, however,
left to pick up the language as best they can, and for this they display
great aptitude, and often succeed in speaking Turkish with a certain
amount of eloquence, although their native accent is never lost, and
the extraction of a seraili can always be discovered by her particular
accent. Many of these women possess great natural talent, and if favored
with some education, and endowed with a natural elegance, become very
tolerable specimens of the fair sex.

All the seraglio inmates, on their entrance to the imperial abode, do
not belong to this class of _Adjemis_; many of them have been previously
purchased by Turkish hanoums of high station, who, from speculative or
other motives, give them the training described, and when sufficiently
polished sell them at high prices, or present them to the seraglio with
the view to some object.

An ex-seraili of my acquaintance had herself undertaken this task and had
offered as many as fourteen young girls to the seraglio of Abdul-Aziz,
after having reared each for the duties that would probably devolve
upon her. This lady said to me, “What other gift from a humble creature
like myself could be acceptable to so great a personage as his Imperial
Majesty?” At the time this conversation took place she had a fresh batch
of young slaves in hand. They were all smart-looking girls, designated
by fancy names such as Amore, Fidèle, Rossignole, Beauté, etc. Their
dress was rich, but ludicrous in the extreme, being composed of cast-off
seraglio finery of all the colors of the rainbow; some children were
even dressed in the Turkish military uniform, which contrasted strangely
with the plaits of their long thick hair tied up with cotton rags. Their
politeness, half saucy, half obsequious, was very amusing; on entering
the room they all stood in a row at the lower end, and when some jocose
observations were made to them by their mistress, a ready and half
impudent reply was never wanting. The youngest, about eight years of age,
was dressed in a miniature colonel’s full uniform; on being addressed by
her owner by the name of “_Pich_,”[16] and asked, “Will you have this
lady’s little son for your husband? I mean to marry him to you when you
grow up!” the little miss laughed, and seemed perfectly well acquainted
with the meaning of the proposal, and by no means abashed at it.

The treatment these girls received seemed to be very kind, but sadly
wanting in decency, morality, and good principle.

On the accession of a new Sultan to the throne, it was customary to make
a clearance of most of the inmates of the seraglio, and replenish it
with fresh ones, such as those that already belonged to the household
of the new sovereign, and others further to augment the number. Ottoman
sultans, with two exceptions, have never been known to marry; the mates
of the Sultan, chosen from among the ranks of slaves already mentioned,
or from among those that are presented to him, can only be admitted to
the honorable title of wife when they have borne children. The first wife
is called Bash Kadin Effendi, the second Ikinji Kadin Effendi, and so on
in numerical order up to the seventh wife (should there be so many), who
would be called Yedinji Kadin Effendi.[17]

The slaves that have borne children beyond this number bear the title of
Hanoums, and rank after the Kadin Effendis; their children are considered
legitimate, and rank with the other princes and princesses. To these two
classes must be added a third, that of favorites, who having no right
to the title of Kadin Effendi or Hanoum, are dependent solely upon the
caprice of their master or the influence they may have acquired over him
for the position they hold in the imperial household.

Under this system every slave in the seraglio, from the scullery-maid
to the fair and delicate beauty purchased for her personal charms, may
aspire to attaining the rank of wife, _odalisk_, or favorite. The mother
of the late Sultan Abdul-Aziz is said to have performed the most menial
offices in the establishment. When thus engaged one day she happened to
attract the attention of her imperial master, Sultan Mahmoud II., who
distinguished her with every mark of attention, and raised her to the
rank of Bash Kadin. Generally speaking, however, the wives of sultans are
select beauties who are offered to him yearly by the nation on the feast
of Kandil Ghedjessi, others are gifts of the Validé and other persons
wishing to make an offering to the Sultan.

When one of these odalisks has succeeded in gaining the good graces of
the Sultan, and attracted his attention, he calls up the Ikinji Hasnadar
Ousta,[18] and notifies to her his desire of receiving the favored
beauty into his apartment. The slave, being informed of this, is bathed,
dressed with great care and elegance, and introduced in the evening to
the imperial presence. Should she be so fortunate as to find favor in the
eyes of her lord and master, she is on the next morning admitted into a
separate room reserved for slaves of this category, which she occupies
during the time needful for ascertaining what rank she is in future to
take in the seraglio. Should the arrival of a child raise her to that of
Kadin Effendi or hanoum, a _Dairé_, or special apartment, is set apart
for her. Those who are admitted to the Sultan’s presence, and have no
claims to the rights of maternity, do not present themselves a second
time unless requested to do so, nor can they lay claim to any further
attention, although their persons, like those of the Kadin Effendi and
hanoums, become sacred, and the contraction of marriage with another
person is unlawful. The distinction between the favored and the discarded
favorite is made known by her abstaining from going to the _hammam_.
The lot of these discarded favorites is naturally not an enviable one.
Accidentally noticed by the Sultan, or entertained by him as the object
of a mere passing caprice, they seldom have the good fortune to occupy a
sufficient ascendency over the mind or heart of the sovereign to enable
them to prolong or consolidate their influence.

A seraglio inmate, who had herself enjoyed Imperial favor of this
description, told me that it was very seldom that a slave enjoyed more
than once the passing notice of the Sultan, a disappointment naturally
very deeply felt by those who after being suddenly raised to the height
of favor find themselves quickly consigned again to oblivion, in which
their future is passed. There are many among the rejected favorites who
have sensitive natures and are capable of a serious attachment, and in
consequence of the sarcasms the more favored fail not to heap upon them,
the disappointment they have experienced, or the devouring jealousy that
unrequited love occasions, are said to become broken-hearted or die of
consumption. “Nor,” continued my informant, “was the condition of those
more closely connected with the Sultan such as insured to them perfect
happiness, mental unconcern, or security.”

They are obliged to have recourse to every art to preserve their beauty,
fight hard against the attacks and intrigues of rivals, and carefully to
watch over themselves and their offspring.

Bessimé Sultana, one of the few who obtained a right to that title by
marriage, was an emancipated slave, adopted by the lady who had brought
her up, and consequently could not be possessed by Sultan Abdul-Medjid
unless through _Nekyah_, or legal marriage.

In relating her strange and adventurous life, as one of the Kadin
Effendis, to a personal friend of mine, she said, Nothing can give a
clear idea of the intrigues and cabals perpetually carried on within
the walls of the seraglio. The power and happiness of some contrast
strangely with the trials and sufferings of those who are in the power
of the influential and malicious. Every crime that has a chance of being
silently passed over can be committed by these.

The slave who, by her interesting position, becomes entitled to the use
of separate apartments, receives a pension, has her own slaves, her
eunuchs, her doctors, banker, carriages, and caïques, and is supplied
with apparel, jewels, and all other requisites suited to her rank. She
dines in her own rooms, receives her friends, and goes out when allowed
to do so. On attaining this rank a new world, dazzling with gold, luxury,
and every refinement belonging to the favored and elevated is opened to
her, raising her far above her former companions in toil and frolic, who
in future, setting aside all familiarity, stand before her with folded
arms, kiss the hem of her garment, and obey her orders with profound
respect.

The favored beauty fulfils the duties of her new position with the
elegance, dignity, and _savoir faire_ of an enchanted being, who,
accustomed to the distant perspective of the fairy-land which has been
the one object of her dreams, suddenly attains it, and feels at home. Her
single aim in life is now to preserve those charms which have caused her
elevation.

In Sultan Abdul-Medjid’s time, blue-eyed, delicate beauties with golden
hair were the most admired by the Sultan; fair beauties consequently
became extremely _recherchées_, and the grand ladies of the capital
vied with each other in their assiduity in finding out and educating
them, in order to present them to the seraglio. By degrees the taste for
_Laypisca_, or golden locks, became so general in Turkish society as to
make the fortune of many a Pera perruquier, who sold for a guinea the
tiny bottle of fluid that changed the dusky hair into golden tresses,
whilst the ladies paid the penalty of its abuse in the injury done to
their eyes and the nervous maladies contracted by its use. Besides this,
all the seraglio ladies indulged to a great extent in paint, rouge, and
_rastuk_ (antimony) for the eyes and eyebrows.

A French proverb says, “La femme est un animal qui s’habille, babille
et se barbouille.” If this can be applied to any particular class of
womankind, it is surely to the inhabitants of the fairy-land I have
attempted to describe.

The Validé Sultana, or mother of the Sultan, ranks first in the seraglio;
one of the wings of the palace nearest to that occupied by her son is set
apart for her use. She possesses state apartments, has an innumerable
train of slaves, and every mark of attention is paid her not only by
the Sultan, but also by all the high functionaries of the Porte, who at
times have more to dread from her influence and interference than from
the Sultan himself. The other members of the Imperial family rank next
by courtesy, but these are all under the direct control of the Hasnadar
Ousta, or superintendent, who, with her assistant, the second Hasnadar
Ousta, attends to all the wants of each department, regulates their
internal administration, and acts as go-between of the Sultan and his
wives when they have any request to make to him, or when he has orders to
give respecting them; she also regulates the receptions and ceremonies
as well as the expenses. Some of her duties are of the most delicate,
difficult, and responsible nature, and require a great amount of judgment
and experience. The person appointed to this important post is generally
the favorite slave of the Validé.

Very few of the seraglio inmates, except young princesses and other
children that are brought up from their infancy in it, possess any
knowledge of writing, or have had the advantage of regular training.
All started in life from the same condition: chance alone settles the
difference between the wife, odalisk, favorite, and Imperial mother, and
draws a line between them and their luckless sisters left to the exercise
of menial functions.

Education, much neglected as yet among Turkish women, has made very
little progress in the seraglio, where it would prove an invaluable aid
to those destined to hold the responsible positions of wives and mothers
of Sultans. If the former, instead of being chosen as they are from a
host of human beings chained to the service of a single individual,
with the sole object of amusing his leisure hours, attending to his
wants, and giving him the progeny that is to succeed him on the throne,
were selected, as in other countries, from among educated ladies, and
their number fixed (or reduced to one) by the laws of religion and
civilization, how different would seraglio life be! Dignity and esteem
would replace humiliation; woman, elevated to her true sphere, would
exercise her influence for high and noble objects, instead of the
unworthy purposes which she effects through the only channel left open to
her.

Under such a system it will not be surprising to hear of vice and
corruption prevailing in a centre where virtue is crushed, and the
benefits of sound education are neither acquired nor appreciated. The
correctness of this statement, which may appear severe, can only be
understood and appreciated by those who have come in contact with inmates
of the seraglio, and are well acquainted with the language, manners, and
customs of the Turks. Such persons would have no hesitation in admitting
that exceptions are to be found in the seraglio, as well as in the
rest of Turkish society. The class which is in the minority consists
of those naturally gifted natures, to be met with in this country as
elsewhere, who possess virtues that yield not to the influences of
temptation and vice, and become ladies in the true sense of the word.
The real Turkish Hanoum, or lady, is a dignified, quiet person, elegant,
sensible, and often naturally eloquent, condescending and kind to those
who gain her good-will, proud and reserved to those who do not merit
her esteem. Her conversational resources are certainly limited, but the
sweetness and poetry of the language she uses, the pretty manner in
which her expressions are worded, and the spirited repartee that she
can command have a charm that atones for her limited knowledge. Her
manners, principles, and choice of language offer a pleasant contrast to
those prevalent among the generality, and render her society extremely
agreeable.

There is another class of serailis who present a not less interesting
study. Sensitive and refined, fragile and dreamy in appearance, gifted
perhaps with virtues they have no occasion to exercise, or with strong
and passionate feelings that in a seraglio can never find vent in
a solid and healthy affection, they become languid and spiritless,
verging towards decline, to which they fall victims, unless released (as
occasionally happens) by being set free and married.

Another class of serailis is the independent set, who are denominated
Deli Serailis, or wild serailis, famous for their extravagant ideas,
disorderly conduct, and unruly disposition; endowed with the bump of
cunning and mischief, joined to a fair amount of energy and vivacity,
they carry out, in spite of high walls and the watchful surveillance of
more than a hundred eunuchs, all the wicked plans and mad freaks their
disorderly minds and impulsive natures suggest to them; their language,
manners, and actions are such as no pen can describe. In the reign of
Sultan Abdul-Medjid, the misconduct and extravagance of this set had
reached its climax, and attracted the attention even of that indulgent
sovereign, who was induced to order the expulsion of the most notorious.
A few of them were exiled, others given in marriage, by Imperial order,
to some dependants of the palace, who received official appointments
or were sent into the interior. These unfortunate men, burdened with
their uncongenial helpmates, were but inadequately compensated by the
rich gifts they received at the same time. During a long residence in
the interior of Turkey, I became personally acquainted with a number
of these ladies. One of them, a stout, coarse-looking woman, would not
even deign to show that outward appearance of respect required from every
Turkish woman towards her husband. She was the wife of a sub-governor,
in whose house I passed a day and night; she was gay and of a sociable
disposition, but evidently not much attached to her husband, whom she
designated as _Bezim Kambour_ (my hen-pecked one), and to whom she
addressed invectives of a very violent nature, accompanied, as I was
subsequently informed, by corporal chastisement.

A second seraili, worthy of mention, was a thin Circassian brunette,
married to a governor-general of high rank. She had a propensity, rather
unusual amongst Turkish women, to an abuse of strong drinks, and she and
her boon companions indulged in this excess to such a degree as to shock
and scandalize the Mohammedan portion of the inhabitants wherever she
went.

The other serailis of this class were so strange and extravagant in their
manners, and their actions had made them so notorious, that details of
their freaks would be as unedifying to the public as painful to me to
describe.

Generally speaking, I frequented this class of serailis as little as the
_convenances_ of society permitted, but, on the other hand, experienced
great pleasure in associating with the serailis that belonged to the
respectable class, in whose society, conversing upon seraglio life, I
have spent many a pleasant hour.

The amusements in the Imperial palace depend very much upon the tastes
and disposition of the reigning sovereign, whose pleasure in such
matters is naturally first consulted. In the days of Sultan Abdul-Medjid
these amusements daily received some increase in the shape of European
innovations. A theatre of great beauty was built in one of the palaces,
by order of the Sultan, and a European company of actors played
pieces, which the ladies were allowed to witness from behind lattices.
Ballet-dancing, for which the Sultan evinced great partiality; conjurors
of European celebrity; the Turkish Kara Guez, or Marionettes; _al fresco_
entertainments, etc., were among the entertainments. Shopping in the
streets of Pera was not the least appreciated of their amusements. The
French shopkeeper himself played as prominent a part in the matter as the
perfumes and finery he displayed and sold. There were also delightful
garden-parties, when the seraglio grounds would be lighted up with
variegated lanterns and fireworks, and all that the Palace contained of
youth and beauty turned out; some, dressed as young pages, would act
the part of Lovelace, and make love to their equally fair companions,
dressed in light fancy costumes; others, grouped together, would perform
on musical instruments or execute different dances; others, again, seated
in light caïques, with costumes so transparent and airy as to show every
muscle of their bodies, and with flowing hair to preserve their white
necks from the evening dew, would race on the still waters of the lakes.

The Sultanas and hanoums, seated on carpets, beguiling the time by
drinking sherbets, eating fruits and ices, and smoking cigarettes, would
gaze on the scene, while strains of music and the notes of the Shaiki
(songs) would be heard in all directions. All, however, both slaves and
ladies, were similarly occupied with one sole object—that of rendering
the scene pleasant and beauteous to the lord and master for whom it was
designed. All would redouble their life and animation as the Sultan
listlessly approached each group, acknowledging its presence with a
sweet smile, a gentle word, or a passing caress, which he never withheld
even when all the faculties of enjoyment were destroyed, and his earthly
paradise of houris had become an object of indifference.

During the reign of his successor the tone of the seraglio became more
serious and the life of its inmates more constrained; there was less
European amusement and more Turkish; such as a Turkish theatre, whose
actors and actresses, Turkish and Armenian, performed Turkish pieces,
with a certain amount of success, such as the _Meydan Oyoun_, a coarse
kind of comedy, and other representations of a similar character.

A child born in the seraglio is allowed to remain under the care of its
mother, who, with the assistance of a wet-nurse and several under-nurses,
has charge of its infantile wants up to the age of seven. The wet-nurse
is generally sent for from Circassia. On entering upon her duties as
foster-mother, she is entitled to special attention, and exercises great
influence over her charge. Her own child is received as _Sut Kardash_, or
foster-brother, of the Imperial offspring, and enjoys the privilege of
becoming his playmate and companion. The two children, as they grow up
together, never lose sight of one another, the fortune of the one being
assured in right of the privilege of having drawn its nourishment from
the same source as the other.

I obtained these details from a Pasha of high rank, who had himself the
honor of being foster-brother to one of the Sultans: he said, “Before I
saw the light, my mother was sent for from Circassia, and my birth, which
took place in the seraglio, preceded that of his Imperial Majesty by a
few weeks. As I grew up, the prosperity of my family, due to Imperial
bounty, was not limited to my mother and myself, but extended to my
father and the rest of my relatives, who were brought to Constantinople,
and enriched with grants of wealth, rank, and position.” The results,
however, of these ties are not always so favorable to the Imperial prince
as to those who owe their all to his generosity. These persons, being
of humble origin, on finding themselves suddenly raised to a higher
sphere, do not possess the necessary qualification for making a good and
judicious use of the influence they thus acquire. The foster-mother of
Sultan Abdul-Aziz was notorious for her rapacity and spirit of intrigue;
she had, by degrees, acquired such ascendency in the seraglio as to have
it in her power to appoint or dismiss, at her will, governors-general
and other important personages. One of her special protégés, on
being informed that he was about to be transferred from his post as
Governor-General of a vilayet of R⸺, smiled calmly, and said to me, “So
long as the Sultan’s foster-mother is there to protect my interests, I am
in no danger of that! The attempt made to remove me will cost a little
money, that is all!”

The training of the Imperial child is not free from the many drawbacks
that attend other Turkish children. From its earliest infancy, left
in the hands of fond but weak and uneducated women, the child becomes
wayward, capricious, and difficult to please.

This lenient treatment of the infant is continued in the more advanced
stages of its life, and seriously retards its education. At this period
Imperial princes and princesses command absolute attention, obedience,
and respect from the legion of menials that surround them, who, anxious
to lay the foundations of future favoritism, refuse nothing in their
power, and pamper their vanity and precocious ideas to such an extent as
to destroy in great part the effects of the teaching they receive, often
rendering profitless the instruction given them in morality and good
principle.

The knowledge generally acquired by Turkish princes was formerly limited
to the study of Arabic, and the Persian, Turkish, and French languages,
with other branches of the general Turkish education, but the harem
indolence, and the maternal and paternal indulgence, sadly interrupt
the course of their lessons, which are gone through in a most negligent
manner, and fail to have their due effect upon the young mind that
pursues them with little assiduity.

The education of the young princesses is still more deficient, both in
the substance of the teaching and in the manner and time in which it is
undertaken. An elementary knowledge of their native language, of music,
and needlework, given at leisure and received at pleasure, is considered
quite sufficient. These girls, on attaining the age of fifteen or
sixteen, are richly portioned, receive the gift of a splendid trousseau,
jewelry, and a palace, and are married to some court favorite. In
consequence of their high birth, and the precedence they have over their
husbands, these princesses are very independent, and absolute mistresses
in their households.

Few of the married princesses in the reigns of the more recent Sultans
enjoyed good reputations, or acquired public esteem, or even the
affection of their husbands. Wayward and extravagant in their habits,
tyrannical, and often cruel, their treatment of their little-to-be-envied
spouses furnished cause for endless gossip to the society of
Stamboul. The few princesses who formed exceptions to this rule are
still remembered with affection by the numerous dependants of their
establishments.




CHAPTER XI.

MUNICIPALITY, POLICE, AND BRIGANDAGE.

    _Municipality._—Improvement at Constantinople—No Improvement in
    Country Towns—Sanitary Negligence.

    _Police._—The Corruption of the old Police—Formation of the new
    Corps—Its various Classes—Economical Reductions—The Corruption
    of the new Police—Voluntary Guards the connecting Link between
    Police and Brigandage.

    _Brigandage._—Ancient and Modern Brigands—Great Diminution
    of Numbers—Constant Outrages, however—Albanians the
    born Brigands—Systematic Attacks—Uselessness of the
    Police—My Brigand Guides—Usual Manner of Attack—Danger to
    _Kheradjis_—Brigands at Vodena repulsed by a Chorbadji and his
    Wife—Impotence of the Authorities—Outrage at Caterina—Modern
    Greek Klephts.


The sanitary and protective laws of Turkey are in their application
still very primitive, although of late years they have been revised and
reorganized, and a municipality and district police corps have been
formed. The carrying out of these new laws was intrusted to a regular
administration, having its chief seat at Constantinople, with branches
in all the provincial towns, and it has done good service in the capital
itself, for many of the improvements that have been made there are due to
the efforts of the municipality.

In other towns, however, its good influence, though well paid for by the
inhabitants has hitherto been little felt. The streets continue to be
ill-paved, and but dimly lighted with petroleum; sanitary measures are
neglected; immense heaps of refuse are piled upon pieces of waste ground
and stray spots, and are left to decompose by the action of the air, be
devoured by unclean animals, or float away on some small stream of water.
Enough, however, remains in the streets and in the vicinity of towns and
villages to pollute the air and cause intermittent fever. Fortunately
the climate is naturally salubrious, and the public health, taken on an
average, is good. Some districts are considered very unhealthy, but the
fault lies with the municipality of the place, who, when they become more
intelligent and active, may perhaps attend less to their own interests
and more to those of the public. Besides the above-mentioned innovations
of the _Beledié_, or municipality, small portions of pavement, two or
three feet in length, are now and then constructed, professing to be the
commencement of a magnificent pavement that is to traverse the town; but
alas! after a few weeks the work is abandoned, and these short lengths of
footpath are left isolated in the midst of pools of mud and water, which
can only be crossed by using the boulders scattered here and there as
stepping-stones.

Sometimes a number of scavengers may be seen doing duty in the streets,
or carting away the rubbish collected in the town; but they only convey
it to the quay, where it is left for the ragged Jews and other beggars to
explore.

The defects of the police were far more serious and more deeply felt
throughout Turkey than those of the municipality. The police were
insufficient as a protective force. They were badly organized, and they
showed an utter want of principle, honesty, and morality. The deplorable
condition of this corps, and the oppressive and illegal influence it
exerted over the people, gave rise to great public indignation, and
induced the people to complain loudly against it.

Ali and Fuad Pashas, well aware of the grievance, were the first to
attempt a thorough police reform. By their united efforts a regular corps
was formed, more numerous, better conditioned, better paid, clad in
uniform, and classified as follows:

(1.) The _Kavasses_, doing duty in the capital and attached to embassies
and other foreign offices.

(2.) The _Seymen_, doing police duty at Constantinople.

(3.) The _Zaptiehs_, foot police for the service of the district
administration.

(4.) The _Soubaris_, mounted police, charged with the superintendence
of public safety; with the office of receiving the taxes from the
villages and transmitting them to the authorities; and with the duty of
accompanying overland mails, travellers, etc.

(5.) The _Bekchis_, or rural police, placed at the Beklemés or
guard-houses on all the main roads.

(6.) The _Teftish_, or detectives.

The uniform worn by the Kavasses consists of a black cloth coat and
trousers, braided with gold, a belt, and a formidable-looking Turkish
sword and pistol. That of the detectives is similar, but they carry
no arms. The rest of the police wear a uniform similar to that of the
Zouaves, of dark blue _shayak_, braided and turned up with red, a black
leather belt and a cutlass. The Soubaris have long guns, and all wear the
fez. The officers’ uniform is similar to that of the officers’ in the
army. The arms are supplied by the Government, and a new suit of clothes
allowed every year.

When this body was first organized, some attention was paid to
enrolling in it men of respectable character. The increase of pay and
the regularity of the pay-days gave it for some time a better name
than the old force; but, unfortunately, hardly had the people begun to
feel the benefit of the changes created during the reform fever, than
these were set aside to make room for the economical mania that took
possession of the administration on the formation of a new ministry.
This latest epidemic, of the many that have attacked Turkey, was fatal
to the provincial administration in general, and affected the police
in particular. Their numbers were reduced, and pay diminished, and
irregularly distributed. The guard-houses on the highways, which had
been established at the distance of four miles from each other, and
intrusted to _Bekchis_, who were held responsible for the security of
their districts, were abandoned and fell into ruin, or were occupied by
worthless fellows who undertook the duty for a small recompense, which
proving difficult to obtain, these so-called “guards” were compelled to
make up their financial deficits as best they could.

I heard of a fellow of this kind who had taken the post of Bekchi in a
mountain pass as a chiplak, or tattered Albanian, but who after a year
had passed was the owner of 700 goats and a fine house, and was dressed
in all the glory of his national costume.

How did he obtain it? is a question not easily answered if put to a
great many of his class. I do not, myself, find the problem difficult
of solution. These amateur guards would seem to be the connecting link
between the police and the brigands; if, indeed, any such link were
needed.

Conversing, some time ago, with some highly educated Bulgarians, well
versed in the affairs of their country, I was told that the chief causes
of the discontent of their nation were the increase of the taxes, the
harshness with which the payment was enforced upon them by the district
officials, the extortion of the police, and the robberies and crimes
committed by the Circassians. The people complained most bitterly of
the insolent arrogance of the police, which they declared drove them
to desperation, and made them ready to listen to any one who promised
release, rather than continue to submit longer to such evils. There are,
of course, some honest men in the police force who are ready to do their
duty, but the generality are unquestionably immoral and unscrupulous,
and, even if they were honest, their number is too small for the
protection of the millions who depend upon them for their safety.

From time immemorial brigandage has played so prominent a part in both
the political and social condition of Turkey that a description of life
in this country would be incomplete without a few words about this
lucrative profession.

I shall pass over the time, which may still be remembered by some of the
oldest inhabitants, when brigands, mustering in overwhelming forces,
composed of degenerate janissaries and malcontents from all the provinces
of European Turkey, gathered under chieftains like Passvan Oglou and
Ali Pasha of Joannina, defied the authority of the Porte, ravaged and
devastated whole provinces, besieged towns, spread terror and bloodshed
on every side, and left behind them nothing but misery and tears. The
Greek Klephts were not more renowned for their bravery and patriotism
than for the ravages and crimes they committed during and after the war
of Greek independence.

Since that time great changes have taken place in Turkey, and brigandage
lost its ancient power. The thousands that filled its ranks have, in our
day, been reduced to tens. But the evil though deprived of its force,
and even entirely eradicated in some parts of the country, has not been
wholly suppressed.

Of late years, in Turkey, brigandage has ceased to clothe itself in the
garb of politics; it is now represented merely by bands of cut-throats
belonging to all creeds and nationalities. The chiefs, however, and the
backbone of these bands, are Albanians. The number is made up by Greeks,
Turks, and Bulgarians. The Mussulman Albanian takes to brigandage because
he likes it, and willingly makes a profession of it; the others join in
order to evade justice, or to avoid want and misery, or simply to respond
to the dictates of a vicious and criminal disposition. It is generally in
early spring, when the trees have lost their nakedness and the hedges are
covered with green leaves and sweet-smelling blossoms, that this element
of infamy and destruction makes its appearance, taking to the highway
or lurking for its prey among the hills and valleys, and polluting with
its blood-stained feet the freshness and purity of resurgent nature. Its
victims may often be found lying dead on a bed of violets or lilies,
gazed upon by the wild rose that hangs its head and seems to blush for
man’s outrage. Such sights are of every-day occurrence.

The brigands have associates living in the towns with every appearance
of respectability, who furnish them with timely notice when and where a
good piece of business can be done. They have spies who give them warning
when danger is at hand, and they often find protectors in high places to
help them to escape the arm of the law. As for food, the flocks of the
terror-stricken Christian shepherds are at their mercy, and the peasant,
trembling for the safety of his home, dares not refuse to satisfy them
with bread and wine. He dares not give notice to the authorities of
the presence of those marauders, as that would expose him to their
vengeance, and he would pay for his temerity with his life. But should
the authorities suspect a countryman of having furnished provision or
other necessaries to the brigands, he is forthwith prosecuted and cast
into prison as their associate and a participator in their spoils. These
are the causes that breed and rear brigandage in Turkey in defiance
of laws and of the power of the authorities. The police regulations,
theoretically excellent, are practically useless, and may be looked upon
as one of the principal reasons of the continuance of brigandage, a
scourge on the inhabitants and a disgrace to the administration.

When a band of brigands has taken up its quarters in a district, the
country round is continually kept on the _qui vive_ by its repeated
crimes and depredations. A force of _Soubaris_ (mounted police) is sent
in chase, but the laxity with which their duty is generally discharged,
the neglect of proper precautions to insure success, and the usual futile
termination of such expeditions, are often caused by unwillingness to
risk a dangerous encounter, or by interested motives for letting off the
brigands.

The inhabitants, on the other hand, suffer in any case by the pursuit,
for, when it proves fruitless, it does not save them from danger, and
only aggravates the enemy; and when the chase is successful, the expenses
of having these armed men and their horses quartered upon them, besides
the suspicions and injuries to which they are often exposed under the
pretence of having direct or indirect communication with the brigands,
are so great as to render the remedy almost worse than the evil, and
induce them to petition the authorities to withdraw the Soubaris sent for
their protection.

If these policemen are headed by an honest and courageous chief, as
occasionally happens, and he sets to work earnestly to do his duty,
success is almost certain, and the brigands are either captured,
destroyed, or dispersed. Those who are caught are disarmed, handcuffed,
and, if numerous and of a desperate character, chained in couples and
marched off to prison. Still the hardy freebooters are not dispirited,
for if they are wealthy, or the proofs of their crime are not
transparently clear, their chances of escape, especially in the interior,
are not small, and bribery affords them a ready means of regaining their
liberty.

When brigands disperse or retire in winter from the field of action, they
find shelter in a well-protected refuge. Such places are easily found
in the country _chiftliks_ of influential beys, who, from motives of
self-preservation or ignorance of their guests’ antecedents, allow their
Albanian guards to harbor the malefactors who venture to seek shelter
under their roof.

The severe laws formerly existing in Turkey for the punishment of crime,
whereby mutilation was ordained in certain cases, are no longer in use.
Crime, according to its extent and the circumstances that surround it,
is punishable by imprisonment for a certain period, or condemnation to
death; the sentence, however, is seldom put into execution except in very
bad cases, or when the authorities are desirous of making an example
of severity in the town. When a long and careful procedure has taken
place before both the civil and religious courts, the Kadi decrees the
sentence, which must be presented to the Sultan for his sanction before
it can be carried out. The culprit is strung up to some shop-front in the
most frequented part of the bazar, or decapitated, and his head exposed,
sometimes for three days, in the market-place.

I have heard many stories of the outrages of brigands during my long
residence in remote and semi-barbarous parts of the country. I have even
been in close contact with some, and on a friendly footing, and once
escaped from their pursuit only thanks to the swiftness of a powerful
horse. On two other occasions, yielding to necessity and in the interests
of self-preservation, I accepted the services of two or three Albanians
who were suspected of being cut-throats, instead of the Government escort.

They were fine, hardy fellows, with deep scars on their faces, that
attested the lease upon which they held their life and the manner in
which they had disputed it with others. They were reputed to be as
venturesome in crime as they were ready to sacrifice their lives, if need
were, for the preservation of those intrusted to their care. I penetrated
into deep gorges with these men, and stopped in isolated and ill-reputed
khans, and throughout the night slept as securely as if I had been in
my own home. The worst of men, like the wildest of beasts, has his good
side; the secret of finding this out lies in striking the right chord;
put the Albanian on his honor, and he will never desert you or betray
your trust.

The attacks made by brigands vary according to the locality, the nature
of the enterprise, and the result desired. Should the attack be upon a
caravan of peasants returning home from market or elsewhere, they are
waylaid, stripped of all they possess, cruelly beaten, wounded, and
sometimes killed. When the assault is directed against a person that has
been singled out for them either for his wealth or other purposes, the
assault made upon him and his escort is always of a murderous nature,
terminating in the inflictions of cruel wounds or death.

The long gun of the Albanian or the yataghans of his equally dreaded
companions are ever suspended over the heads or the wealthy Chorbadjis:
when the slightest opportunity is afforded they assault the villages,
rob, murder, and carry off hostages in the persons of young men or
boys—the sons of people who are sufficiently wealthy to redeem them by
the payment of large ransoms.

Such attacks are of not unfrequent occurrence, especially in troubled
times, when the ends of justice are rarely attained in the punishment of
the criminals or the recovery of lost property.

_Kheradjis_, the brave and trustworthy fellows who undertake to convey
the goods of the merchants from town to town on the backs of their horses
and mules, and the Tatar couriers, who are intrusted with the transport
of sums of money, are great temptations to brigands. The last attack on a
Kheradji I heard of took place last summer when he and his companion, an
Albanian Mohammedan, had quitted one of the smaller towns in the Vilayet
of Salonika, conveying a considerable sum of money concealed in the
sacks of corn with which his animals were laden. While on the road, and
a short distance from their destination, they were suddenly attacked by
two brigands, who wounded the Christian Kheradji, and, after a struggle,
succeeded in disarming the Mohammedan. They then searched the persons of
the two men, and not finding the expected booty proceeded to cut open
the sacks and abstract the money, after which they made off, leaving the
unfortunate Kheradjis to find their way back to the town they had left,
and to which both were strangers.

Next morning the Albanian presented himself before the Medjliss, or
local court, to deposit his complaint; on looking round he started, and
pointing to one of the members of the Bench exclaimed, “By Allah and
Mohammed, I swear that here is one of the two brigands, that attacked us
yesterday! If any one doubts my word let this man’s house be searched,
and a jacket with a torn sleeve will be found, to attest the truth of
my accusation!” The culprit, in the midst of the general surprise and
confusion, made his escape. Search was made in his house, and the jacket
described by the Kheradji found, but the owner has not since been heard
of.

Another robbery of a far more daring and serious nature was attempted
by a gang of Albanians in the autumn of 1876 in the town of Vodena.
The assailants, seven in number, had been frequently noticed lurking
in the woods and gardens that lie in the beautiful plain by which this
picturesque town is surrounded. The brigands had marked out the house of
one of the wealthy Chorbadjis as the object of their attack. This man
possessed a certain amount of education, and had taken the precaution of
building a house sufficiently solid to protect himself and family and
to secure his treasure. The building was not large but well protected,
and surrounded by a large court-yard with high walls and a strong gate.
The house-door was very solid, and furnished with triple bolts; and the
windows, opening on a veranda, were well barred. The robbers, having
planned their attack and posted a sentinel at the only open end of the
street, proceeded to attack the gate. Finding it impossible to break it
open, they undermined it, and entered the yard. The first barrier thus
passed, and persuaded that an attempt on the house-door would prove
fruitless, they placed a ladder which they found against the veranda,
supposing that where the Chorbadji and his wife slumbered there would
their treasure be. They set to work at the window of this chamber,
attempting to demolish the iron bars.

The night was dark and stormy and the rain fell heavily, but the
unconscious slumberers were not awakened for some time. At length
the wife of the Chorbadji, startled by the unaccustomed noise at the
window, aroused her husband and acquainted him with what was going on.
His coolness and courage were quite equal to the occasion, and after a
short consultation with his wife he decided upon using the fire-arms
that hung against the wall. It was a terrible moment for both. Standing
a little on one side, and protected by the darkness of the room, they
could see several men trying to force the bars. To face these men openly
was certain death, and it was hard to get a good aim at them. He decided
finally to attempt a shot, first calling out in a determined voice, “Who
goes there? Let him leave the spot, or he is a dead man!”

This appeal, however, instead of having the desired effect, stimulated
the energy of the brigands, who, forming into two bands, now attacked the
door of the house as well, and were making strenuous efforts to open it.
The Chorbadji, cautiously advancing towards the side of the window, and
screened by the projecting walls, fired his pistol and shot one of the
Albanians dead who stood on the ladder; another mounted, and a second
shot stretched him wounded on the floor of the veranda. The rest, whose
shots into the room proved ineffective, abandoned the window and went to
the door, at which they continued pounding with the fury of fiends, but
as yet to no effect.

In the mean time the brave couple, freed from the immediate vicinity of
their enemies, struck a light, and while the husband was pouring his fire
upon them the wife loaded his pistols. A girl who slept in the next room
opened her window and called loudly for help, but was nearly paying for
her rashness with her life, as one of the brigands in the yard fired at
her, and the ball struck the iron bar against which her head was pressed,
but glanced off.

The Albanians, after some further efforts, began to fear the consequences
of the alarm the affray was beginning to excite in the neighborhood, and
bethought themselves of making good their retreat. But previously to
doing so they cut off the head of their dead comrade to avoid detection,
and carried it away with them, together with their wounded. A few weeks
subsequently the assault was renewed, but the owner was well prepared to
receive and repel it, without, however, being able to obtain definite
peace and security for his home.

The Albanians, doubly incensed against him for the loss of their comrade
and their disappointment at not having been able to effect their purpose,
sent threatening messages to the Chorbadji, and claimed 160_l._ for the
widow and children of the slain brigand, or in lieu thereof himself to
pay the debt with his life. The poor man, being hard pressed, appealed
to the Kaimakam, or sub-governor of the town, for protection; but this
dignitary, being an Albanian, old and void of energy, and incapable of
bringing the culprits to justice, offered his services as peacemaker
between the two parties, and proposed a compromise for half that sum.
The Chorbadji refused to pay anything, and the Albanians renewed their
threats. The persecuted man in the mean time had to remain in-doors on
the pretext of ill-health, and only expects to be able to regain his
liberty when affairs settle and better times come.

Among the many sad cases of children and youths being carried off from
the villages, which have become so prevalent during these disordered
times, I may relate one which happened last year, in the district
of Caterina, at the foot of Mount Olympus. The victim was a fine
promising young Greek of two-and-twenty, an only son, doted upon by a
grief-stricken mother, whose husband had been killed by brigands. This
youth was suddenly attacked as he was returning home, carried off, and
never more heard of. The unfortunate mother, distracted with grief, and
prompted by mingled hope and despair, wandered up to the mountains, and
for days was seen by the shepherds roaming about and calling for her son.
It was thought that he had been put to death in consequence of his father
having killed one of the brigands that had attacked him.

I have not included the Circassians as members of this general fraternity
of brigands, because they form a distinct set, who, ever since their
arrival in this country, have been notorious for theft and crime and
outrage.

Although political brigandage has ceased to exercise its former influence
in the country, it has in a small degree again made its appearance as an
inseparable incident of war and internal trouble. A few bands, mustering
from thirty to fifty men, have lately made their appearance in different
parts of European Turkey. They are composed of Greek desperadoes,
supposed to be the agents of an Ἑταιρεία, or secret society of violent
Greek patriots holding extreme views. Their object in maintaining these
_Klephts_ in different localities is that of having them in readiness
in case of an insurrection among the discontented peasantry. One or two
of these bands have been stationed since last spring in the district
of Caterina. They have not been known to molest any one; but their
presence somewhat kept in check the Albanian brigands and prevented them
devastating the Greek villages. The Klephts obtained their provisions
from the peasants, for which they regularly and scrupulously paid. The
_Eteria_ that supports these individuals is disapproved of by the Greek
authorities, who consider it an element of disorder and trouble.




CHAPTER XII.

CEREMONIES OF BIRTH AND INFANCY.

    The Birth of a Turkish Child—Midwives—Mummification of the
    Baby—Amulets—The State Bedstead—Naming the Child—Invalid
    Diet—Reception of Friends and Strangers—Treatment of the
    Baby—Evil Eye, and Remedies thereagainst—Bathing of Mother
    and Child—Daubing of the Mother and Refreshment of the
    Guests—The Cradle—Opiates given to Children—Treatment
    of Baby Illnesses—Food—Deaths from Over-eating—Late
    weaning—Circumcision—Procession—Rejoicings—Hospitality—The
    Diseases of Childhood and their Treatment in
    Turkey—Fosterage—Attempted Census—Frequent Deaths of
    Mothers—Births among the Jews—Armenian Birth Ceremonies—Births
    among the Greeks—Remains of Ancient Customs—The
    Christening—Triple Immersion—Dedication of Hair—Confirmation
    by Anointing—Conscientious Performance of the Duties of
    Sponsors—Hardiness of Bulgarian Women—Their Indifference to
    Lying-in—Their Sorrows—Survival only of the Fittest—A Bulgarian
    and her Cow—Doctoring Children.


The birth of a Turkish child is left very much to nature, slightly aided
by the unscientific assistance of the _Ebé Kadin_ or midwives, who are
very numerous in the country, recruited from the lower strata of society,
and belonging to all creeds. They are ignorant, uneducated, and possess
not the most rudimentary knowledge of medicine or of the surgical art.
Some of these women, however, from long experience and natural _savoir
faire_, acquire a certain repute for ability, well justified by the
success they sometimes obtain in difficult cases. All _Ebés_ who have
attained this height of superiority are much esteemed in Turkish society;
they are admitted into elevated circles, and are entitled to special
marks of honor and attention.

As soon as a Turkish child is born it is enveloped in a tiny chemise
and _Libardé_, or quilted jacket of many colors, bound with a swathe;
its limbs are pulled straight down, and then imprisoned in a number of
quilted wrappers and tightly bandaged all over by another swathe, giving
the unfortunate mummified being the appearance of a Bologna sausage. A
red silk cap is placed on the head, ornamented with a pearl tassel, one
or two fine gold coins, and a number of amulets and charms against the
evil eye.

These objects consist of a head of garlic, a piece of alum, a copy of
one or two verses of the Koran plaited in little triangles and sewn in
bits of blue cloth, and a number of blue glass ornaments in the shape
of hands, horseshoes, etc. The baby, thus decked out, is next placed in
a fine square quilted covering, one corner of which forms a hood, the
other three being crossed over its body; a red gauze veil, thrown over
the whole, completing its toilette. After the child’s birth a state
couch is prepared on a bedstead used for the occasion, decorated with
the richest silks, the heaviest gold embroideries, and the finest gauzes
of the East. The bed is first covered with a gauze sheet, worked with
gold threads; five or six long pillows of various colored silks, covered
with richly-embroidered pillow-cases, open at the ends, occupy the head
and one side of the couch; one or two _yorgans_, or quilted coverlets,
heavily laden with gold embroidery, occasionally mixed with pearls and
precious stones and the under-sides lined with gauze sheets, are thrown
over it. On this bed of state the happy mother is placed, at no small
sacrifice of ease and comfort. Her head is encircled with a red _Fotoz_,
or scarf, ornamented with a bunch of charms similar to that placed on the
head of the child, the garlic insinuating its head through the red veil
that falls on the temples. A stick, surmounted by an onion, is placed in
one corner of the room, against the wall.

When these preliminary arrangements have been made, the husband is
admitted, who, after felicitating his wife on the happy event, has his
offspring put into his arms; he at once carries it behind the door, and
after muttering a short prayer, shouts three times into the baby’s ear
the name chosen for it. He then gives back the infant to its mother, and
quits the room.[19]

For several days (the exact time depending upon the mother’s health)
water, either for drinking or ablutionary purposes, is not comprised
in the régime imposed upon the invalid, whose lips may be parched with
thirst, but not a drop of water is given to her. Sherbet, made from a
kind of candied sugar and spices, varied by a tisane extracted from the
maidenhair fern, is the only drink administered. Turkish ladies, after
confinement, get little rest; the moment the event is known, relations,
friends, and neighbors crowd in, and are at once permitted to enter the
chamber and partake of sherbet, sweets, and coffee, not even abstaining
from their inveterate habit of smoking cigarettes.

On the second day a great quantity of this sherbet is prepared, and
bottles of it sent to friends and acquaintances by _Musdadjis_,[20]
also an invitation to the _Djemiet_, or reception held on the third
day. The house on this occasion is thrown open to visitors, invited or
uninvited. Dinner is served to the former, and sherbet to the latter.
Bands of music are in attendance to receive and accompany upstairs the
most distinguished guests, who arrive in groups, preceded by servants
bearing baskets of sweets prettily got up with flowers and gilt paper and
enveloped in gauze tied up with ribbons.

The guests are first conducted into an ante-chamber, where they are
divested of their _Yashmaks_ and _Feridjés_ (veils and cloaks) previously
to being introduced to the presence of the invalid. The latter kisses the
hands of all the elderly _hanoums_, who say to her, “Mashallah, ermuli
kadunli olsoun.”[21] Very little notice is taken of the baby, and even
then only disparaging remarks are made about it, both by relatives and
guests, such as _Murdar_ (dirty), _Chirkin_ (ugly), _Yaramaz_ (naughty).
If looked at it is immediately spat upon, and then left to slumber in
innocent unconsciousness of the undeserved abuse it has received. Abusive
and false epithets are employed by Turkish women under all circumstances
worthy of inviting praise or admiration, in order to counteract the
supposition of ill-feeling or malice underlying the honeyed words of the
speaker, which are sure to be turned against her in case of any accident
or evil happening to the subject of the conversation.

As soon as the visitors have departed a few cloves are thrown into the
brazier, to test whether any ill effects of the evil eye have been left
behind. Should the cloves happen to burst in burning, the inference is
drawn that the evil eye has exerted its influence; the consequences of
which can only be averted by some hair from the heads of the mother and
child being cut off and burnt with the view of fumigating the unfortunate
victims with the noxious vapor. Prayers and sundry incantations,
intermingled with blowings and spittings, are made over the heads of
the stricken creatures, and only desisted from when a fit of yawning
proclaims that the ill effects of the _Nazar_ (evil eye) have been
finally banished.

The party suspected of having given the Nazar is next surreptitiously
visited by some old woman, who manages to possess herself of a scrap of
some part of the suspected person’s dress, with which a second fumigation
is made.

Among the lower orders, coffee, sugar, and other provisions frequently
replace the baskets of sweets; and if the father of the child is an
official, his superior and subordinates may accompany these with gifts of
value. The poor, who cannot afford to give dinners, content themselves
with offering sherbet and coffee to their visitors. With the poor the
third, and with the rich the eighth, day is appointed for the bathing of
the mother and child. There is a curious but deeply-rooted superstition,
accepted by all Turkish women, which imposes upon them the necessity of
never leaving the mother and child alone, for fear they should become
_Albalghan mish_, possessed by the Peris. The red scarves and veils are,
I believe, also used as preservatives against this imaginary evil. When a
poor person is unavoidably left alone, a broom is placed by the bedside
to mount guard over her and her child.

If the ceremony of the bath takes place in the house, the _Ebé Kadin_
and a number of friends are invited to join the bathers and partake of
luncheon or some other refreshment. When the ceremony is carried out
at the public bath, the company march there in procession, headed by
the _Ebé Kadin_ carrying the baby. Each family sends a carpet and the
bathing linen tied up in a bundle, covered with embroidery and pearls
sometimes amounting in value to 30_l._ or 40_l._ The mother and child are
naturally the chief objects of attention. The former, divested of her
clothing, is wrapped in her silk scarf offered to her by the _Hammamji
Hanoum_ (mistress of the bath), puts on a pair of high pattens worked
with silver, and is led into the inner bath, supported on one side by
the Hammamji and on the other by some friend, the baby in the charge of
the _Ebé Kadin_ bringing up the rear. Hot water is thrown over it, and
it is rubbed and scrubbed, keeping the company alive with its screams of
distress. This concluded, the infant is carried out, and its mother taken
in hand by her _Ebé Kadin_, who, before commencing operations, throws
a bunch of keys into the basin, muttering some prayers, and then blows
three times into it. A few pails of water are thrown over the bather,
and after the washing of the head and sundry manipulations have been
performed she is led to the centre platform, where she is placed in a
reclining position, with her head resting on a silver bowl. A mixture
of honey, spices, and aromatics, forming a brownish mess, is thickly
besmeared all over her body, and allowed to remain about an hour. Her
friends surround her during this tedious process, and amuse her with
songs and lively conversation, every now and then transferring some of
this composition from her body to their mouths with their fingers. The
spicy coating thus fingered gives to the lady a singular zebra like
appearance; but, though not becoming, it is believed to possess very
strengthening and reviving powers, and it is considered a good augury
even to get only a taste of it. What remains of this mixture after the
friends have been sufficiently regaled is washed off.

The lady, no doubt greatly benefited by this application, is then wrapped
in her bathing dress, the borders of which are worked with gold, and is
ready to leave the bath. Previous to doing so, she must make a round of
the baths, and kiss the hands of all the elderly ladies, who say to her
in return “_shifalou olsoun_.”[22] Refreshments are offered in abundance
to the guests during the ceremony, which lasts the greater part of the
day. These formalities are only _de rigueur_ at the birth of the first
child; at other times they are optional.

The cradle (_beshik_) plays a great part in the first stage of baby
existence. It is a very strange arrangement, and, like many Turkish
things and customs, not very easy to describe. It is a long, narrow,
wooden box fixed upon two rockers, the ends of which rise a foot and a
half above the sides, and are connected at their summits by a strong
rail, which serves as a support to the nurse when giving nourishment to
the child. The mattress is hard and no pillow is allowed. The baby lies
on its back with its arms straight down by its sides, its legs drawn
down, and toes turned in.

It is kept in this position by a swathe, which bandages the child all
over to the cradle. A small cushion is placed on the chest, and another
on the knees of the child, to keep it in position and prevent the bandage
from hurting it. The infant thus secured becomes a perfect fixture,
the head being the only member allowed the liberty of moving from side
to side. This strange contrivance (called the _kundak_) has a very
distorting effect, and is one of the principal causes of the want of
symmetry in the lower limbs of the Turks and of the Armenians (who are
reared in the same fashion), who are, as a rule, bow-legged and turn
their toes in. I believe the _kundak_ system is going out of fashion
among the higher classes, but it is still resorted to by the lower, who
find it extremely convenient on account of the leisure it affords to
the mother. The child, thus disposed of, is left in the cradle for five
or six hours at a time; it is occasionally nursed, and in the intervals
sucks an _emsik_ composed of masticated bread and sugar, or some Rahat
lakoum (Turkish delight), tied up in a piece of muslin.

All Turkish mothers and many Armenians of the lower orders administer
strong sleeping draughts, generally of opium, poppy-head, or theriac,
to their infants; some carry the abuse of these to such an extent that
the children appear always in a drowsy state, the countenance pale, the
eyelids half closed, the pupils of the eyes contracted, the lips parched
and dry, and a peculiar hazy expression fixed upon the face; all the
movements are lethargic, in marked contrast to the sprightly motion of a
healthy European child. The natural baby-cry is replaced by a low moan,
and no eagerness is shown for the mother’s milk, only an inclination to
remain listless and inactive. I have known mothers give as many as five
opium pills to a restless child in one night. Besides the stupefying
effect of these opiates on the brain, they are highly injurious to the
digestive organs, occasioning constipation, which, treated under the
designation of _sangyu_ (colics), is increased by frequent employment
of heating medicines, such as spirits of mint, camomile, or aniseed. A
Turkish mother never thinks of giving her child an aperient; almond oil
is the nearest approach to a remedy of this kind.

Sleeplessness, uneasiness, or slight indisposition in babies is generally
put down to the effects of the evil eye. Any old woman, whose _nefs_,
or breath, is considered most efficacious, is called in. She takes hold
of the child, mutters prayers over it, exercising a sort of mesmeric
influence, and blowing it at intervals, a remedy that results in soothing
the child to sleep for a while. Should her breathing powers prove
inefficacious, the _Sheikh_ (whose _nefs_ is held in the highest esteem)
is called in. The magnetizing powers of the latter are increased by the
addition of a _muska_ (amulet) hung round the neck of the child, for
which a shilling is paid. When all these remedies prove unavailing, the
doctor is applied to, but his advice, generally little understood and
less credited, is never thoroughly carried out. The Turks have no faith
in medicine or doctors—“kismet” overrides all such human efforts.

No régime is followed with regard to the food of a child. It is allowed
to eat whatever it can get hold of, and digest it as best it can. The
excesses into which children are liable to fall by the indulgence of
sweets and other unwholesome food often lead to serious consequences.
I have seen a splendid child two years old die, after an illness of
seven hours, from indigestion caused by eating an undue quantity of
boiled Indian corn, a favorite dish among Turkish children. I have also
witnessed two other similarly painful cases; one of a girl nine years of
age, who, after consuming a large quantity of heavy pastry, was found
dead, crouched up in a corner of a room; the other of a boy seven years
old, whose partiality for pickles brought on inflammation of the bowels,
from which, after forty days, he died.

Turkish children are nursed up to the age of eighteen months, and even
to three years. Some foolish mothers will nurse their children as long
as Nature supplies them with the necessary nourishment. I knew a boy
of five years of age who was still being nursed. The strangest part of
this case was that his foster-mother, a woman with whom I was personally
acquainted, had never had a child of her own, but, determining to
participate in part in the sweets of maternity, had adopted a baby, which
she perseveringly nursed till Nature by some strange freak provided her
with milk!

Weaning is perhaps the most critical period of babyhood. A little basket
is provided by the tender parents, into which all kinds of fruits and
sweets are heaped, and left at the child’s disposal to eat as much as
it likes. The consequence of this injurious custom is the complete
derangement and distension of the stomach, the effects of which are
often noticeable in after-life. Rice and starch, boiled in water, are
the ingredients Turkish women sometimes use for baby-food, feeding them
invariably with their fingers; but it is impossible to say what they do
or do not feed them with, for there is no notion in Turkey of a regular
system for bringing up children.

A rite of childhood which must not be passed over, since it is
accompanied by curious ceremonies, is circumcision. The obligatory
duty of parents in this matter falls heavily on the middle classes and
entails great expense upon the budget of the wealthy. When a Turk of
some standing is expected to have a _Sunnet Duhun_, the coming event is
watched for by a number of persons who cannot afford individually to
undertake the responsibility of the outlay the ceremony would involve.
All such individuals send in the names of their children, begging that
they might be allowed to participate in the ceremonial rite. The grandee
appealed to fixes the number of these according to his means or his
generosity. When the ceremony takes place in the imperial palace, the
Sultans have not the liberty of limiting the number of applicants, which
sometimes amounts to thousands, and occasions a very heavy drain upon the
treasury.

The _Sunnet Duhun_ begins on a Monday and lasts a whole week. The ages
of the candidates range from four to ten years. The boys are sent to the
bath, where the uncropped tufts of hair left on the crown of their heads
are plaited with gold threads allowed to hang down their backs up to the
moment of initiation. The chief candidate is provided with a suit of
clothes richly worked with gold and ornamented on the breast with jewels
in the shape of a shield; his fez is also entirely covered with jewels.
The number of precious ornaments necessary for the ceremony is so great
that they have in part to be borrowed from relatives and friends, who are
in duty bound to lend them. The caps and coats of all the minor aspirants
are equally studded with gems. They are provided with complete suits of
clothes by the family in whose house the _Sunnet Duhun_ is held, by whom
also all other expenses connected with the ceremony are defrayed.

On the Monday, the youths decked out in their parade costumes, and led
by some old ladies, make a round of calls at the harems and invite
their friends for the coming event; Monday and Tuesday being dedicated
to a series of entertainments given in the Selamlik, where hospitality
is largely extended to the poor as well as the rich. Wednesday and
Thursday are reserved to the Haremlik, where great rejoicings take place,
enlivened by bands of music and dancing girls. On the morning of the
latter day the ladies busy themselves in arranging the state bed, as well
as a number of others of more modest appearance. The boys, in the mean
time, mounted upon richly-caparisoned steeds and accompanied by their
Hodjas, the family barber, and some friends, and preceded by music, pass
in procession through the town. On returning home the party is received
at the door by the parents of the boys. The father of the principal
candidate takes the lead and stands by the side of the stepping-block,
the barber and Hodja taking their places by his side. The horse of the
young bey is brought round, and the hand of the father, extended to
help him to dismount, is stayed for a moment by that of the Hodja, who
solemnly asks him, “With what gift hast thou endowed thy son?” The
parent then declares the present intended for his son, which may consist
of landed property or any object of value according to his means, and
then assists him to dismount. The other boys follow, each claiming and
receiving a gift from his father or nearest of kin. Should any of the
boys be destitute of relatives, the owner of the house takes the father’s
place and portions him.

The children are then taken to the Haremlik, where they remain until
evening, when they return to the Selamlik and do not again see their
mothers till the morning of the completion of the ceremony, when they are
carried to the Haremlik and placed upon the beds prepared for them. The
entertainments this day are carried on in both departments. The children
are visited by all their friends and relations, who offer them money and
other presents; the ladies every now and then disappearing in order to
allow the gentlemen to enter and bring their offerings. The money and
gifts collected on these occasions sometimes amount to considerable sums.
The Hodja and barber are equally favored. The _Musdadji_ receives a gold
piece from the mother on announcing to her the completion of the sacred
rite.

Every effort is made in the harem to amuse and please the children, and
beguile the time for them till evening, when the fatigue and feverish
excitement of the day begin to tell upon them, and they show signs of
weariness, the signal for the break-up of the party. On the next day
the boys are taken home by their relatives, but the entertainments are
continued in the principal house till the following Monday.

The Turks, hospitable on all occasions, are particularly so on this, and
consider it a religious duty to show special regard and attention to the
poor and destitute.

It is difficult to give a definite idea of the expense incurred by this
ceremony among the rich. The lowest estimate among the middle classes,
who limit it to one day, would be from 10_l._ to 12_l._, while the poor
are enriched by it to the extent of 2_l._ or 3_l._

Turkish children are subject to much the same diseases as those of
other nations. The most terrible of these used to be small-pox, which
committed fearful ravages, carrying off great numbers, and leaving its
mark in blindness or some other organic defect in those who survived it.
Its ravages, however, have greatly diminished since the introduction
of vaccination, now pretty generally adopted throughout the country.
Teething, measles, whooping-cough, scarlatina, and low intermittent
fevers are the principal maladies prevalent among Turkish children. A
doctor is rarely called in; the treatment of the invalid is left to the
mother’s instincts, aided by some old woman’s doubtful pharmacopœia and
the saintly influence of _Hodjas_, whose superstitious rites are firmly
believed in by the applicants. Diphtheria, unknown in the country until
the arrival of the Circassian immigrants, may also be classed among
the prevalent infantile maladies; fortunately it has seldom been known
to rage as an epidemic, otherwise its ravages would be incalculable by
reason of the entire disregard of quarantine laws.

Mortality, however, among Turkish children is considerable, and one of
the causes why large families are so rarely to be met with. A bey of
Serres, for instance, possessed of a goodly number of wives, who had
borne him about fifty children, saw only seven of them live to attain
manhood.

In wealthy families a wet-nurse is engaged, called _Sut nana_
(foster-mother), who enjoys great privileges, both during the time
she serves and afterwards. Her own child becomes the _Sut kardash_
(foster-brother) of her nursling, a bond of relationship recognized
through life, and allowing the foster-children, if of different sexes,
to set aside, if they choose, the law of _Namekhram_, and see each
other freely. Besides the foster-mother, a _Dadi_, or nursemaid, is at
once appointed to attend upon a child of rank. She has the care of its
wardrobe, and upon her devolves the duty of sleeping near the cradle.

Correct statistical information of births cannot be obtained, as
no registration exists. Census regulations were for the first time
introduced into the country by Sultan Mahmoud, and they have been but
imperfectly carried out by his successors. During Sultan Abdul-Medjid’s
lifetime a census of the population (excluding women) was made, but
the Mohammedans, fearing the consequences in the conscription laws,
tried as much as possible to avoid giving correct information; many
people were represented as dead, others put down far above or below
their actual ages. Every seven or eight years this census is taken and
each time more strictly enforced, but the absence of birth-registration
greatly facilitates the frustration of the Government’s desire for exact
statements. The number of children in a Turkish family, notwithstanding
the system of polygamy, is never great, ranging between two and eight. If
the first children happen to be females, the mother is still ambitious
of possessing a male child, but should the latter come first she is
satisfied, and resorts to every means in her power to prevent further
additions to her family. A Turkish mother may practically, with impunity,
destroy her offspring if she chooses at any stage of her pregnancy; and
this cruel and immoral custom is resorted to by all classes of society,
often resulting in dangerous accidents, occasioning injuries felt through
life, and sometimes having fatal results. Strong opiates are also
resorted to for the same purpose, as well as a number of extraordinary
means passing description. Many dangerous medicines used with this
object, which in Europe are disposed of with difficulty, or of which the
sale is even prohibited, are every year shipped for Turkey, where they
find numerous purchasers. During a short visit I made to Philippopolis I
stayed at the house of the Mudir of Haskia; his newly-married wife was
very young, extremely pretty, and delicate. She was very much depressed
at the idea of becoming a mother, before becoming rather plumper; for
_embonpoint_ is a great object of ambition with Turkish ladies. When, on
my return to Haskia, I stopped at the same house, the delicate beauty
was dead, and her place already filled by a robust young rustic, who
bustled about, trying with awkward efforts to accustom her untrained
nature to the duties of her new position. On making inquiries about the
previous wife in whom I was interested, I was quietly told that she had
succumbed about two months previously to some violent measures she had
used in order to procure abortion, and had been found dead in her bath.
Her untimely end was due to the instrumentality of a Jewish quack, who,
though having evidently caused the death of the poor woman, never lost
any social position from what was simply considered as a misadventure.

I have heard from a trustworthy Turkish source that in Constantinople
alone not less that 4000 instances of abortion are procured annually
with the assistance of a class of women known as Kaulii Ebé, who earn
considerable sums by their nefarious practice. This statement has been
confirmed by the “Djeridé i Havadis” newspaper, and in an article which
appeared in the Bassuret newspaper on the serious decrease of the
population. The writer (a Turk) says this decrease is owing, first, to
the conscription; secondly, to polygamy; thirdly, to the prevalence of
artificial abortion; fourthly, to the absence of all sanitary precautions
in domestic economy.

The births among other Eastern nations have all their peculiar
ceremonies; some originating in national traditions, others being copied
from the customs of the dominant nation. Jewesses pride themselves
greatly when nature has made them prolific mothers; even the poorest
rejoice over successive births, particularly when the children are
males. On all such occasions, friends and relatives gather round the
expectant mother, giving much of their time to her company, and making
every effort to amuse her and make her less sensitive to the pains and
anxieties of maternity. In some towns, Adrianople for instance, regular
_réunions_ take place round the sick-couch (including visitors of both
sexes), enlivened by music and dancing. If the child be a girl, its name
is given to it; if a boy, it is circumcised. A Rabbi is called in, and a
godfather and godmother chosen. The latter carries the baby to the door
of the room and delivers it to the former, who holds the infant during
the initiation; it is then returned to the mother, and a feast is given
on the occasion.

The Armenians have conformed more to the Turkish customs than any other
race in the country. An Armenian confinement is assisted by a midwife,
herself an Armenian, and as ignorant as her Turkish colleague; only in
difficult cases is a doctor resorted to. The ceremonies at an Armenian
birth are scarcely less superstitious than the Turkish rites. They are of
a more vague and indefinite character. If possible, a mother and child
should not be left alone the first few days; but the broom is replaced
by the venerated image of the Holy Virgin or some saint, put on guard
over the bed. Garlic is not resorted to as a safeguard against the evil
eye, but holy water is nightly sprinkled over child and mother, who are
also fumigated with the holy olive-branch. The company received on these
occasions is quiet, and only part of the Turkish show and pageantry is
displayed in the adornment of the bed. The child has the same Bologna
sausage appearance, modified by a European baby’s cap. A neighbor of mine
once brought her child to me in great distress, saying it had not ceased
crying for three days and nights, without her being able to guess the
reason. I made her at once unbandage the baby, and soon discovered the
cause. A long hair had in some inexplicable manner wound itself round the
child’s thumb, which was swollen to a disproportionate size through the
stoppage of the circulation, and was nearly severed from the little hand.

About the ninth day the bath ceremony takes place; but instead of the
mother’s body providing food for her guests by the honeyed plaster of
the Turkish woman, all sit down to a substantial luncheon in which the
_Yahlan dolma_ and the _lakana turshou_ (Sauerkraut) play a prominent
part, and which is brought into the bath on this occasion.

As the christening takes place within eight days, it cannot on that
account be witnessed by the mother, who is unable to attend the
church services before the fortieth day, when she goes to receive the
benediction of purification. Part of the water used for the christening
is presumably brought from the river Jordan, and the child is also rubbed
with holy oil. The service concluded, the party walk home in procession,
headed by the midwife carrying the baby. Refreshments are offered to the
company, who soon afterwards retire. A gift of a gold cross or a fine
gold coin is made to the child by the sponsors.

No system of diet is followed in the rearing of Armenian children, nor
are their bodies refreshed by a daily bath. Few people in the East bathe
their children, like Europeans, for a general idea prevails that it is an
injurious custom and a fertile cause of sickness. Kept neither clean nor
neat, they are allowed to struggle through infancy in a very irregular
manner. Yet in spite of this they are strong and healthy.

The customs among the higher classes of Greeks and Bulgarians are very
much alike. The latter, though now more backward, were till lately pretty
faithful copies of the former. Their usages differ according to the
district, and depend upon the degree of progress civilization has made
among the people. At Constantinople, for instance, everything takes place
just as in Europe; but in district towns, such as Adrianople, Salonika,
Vodena, Serres, many of the superstitions of the ancient Greeks may
still be found in connection with the birth of a child. At Serres, for
example, the event is awaited in silence by the midwife and a few elderly
relatives; when the little stranger arrives, the good news is taken to
the anxious father, and then circulated through the family, who soon
collect round the maternal couch and offer their hearty felicitations,
saying, “Νἀ πολυχρονήση.” The infant in its turn receives the same good
wishes, and after being bathed in salt and water is wrapped up (but not
mummified) and laid by the side of the mother, who can press its little
hand and watch its tiny feet moving about under their coverings. The
couch is kept for three days, when the accouchée is made to rise from it,
walking in a stream of water poured by the _mammê_ (accoucheuse) from a
bottle along her path. This custom must be connected with the conception
of water as the emblem of purity, and must be intended to remind the
mother that her strength must ever rest upon her chastity. On this night
a woof and some gold and silver coins are placed under the pillow, as a
hint to the Moeræ, or fates, who are supposed to visit the slumbering
infant, that they may include riches and industry in the benefits they
bestow upon it.

The christening, as a rule, takes place within eight days after the
birth. The _Koumbáros_ and the _Koumbára_ (also called _Nono_ and
_Nona_) stand as godfather and godmother to the child, who is carried
to the church by the _mammê_ followed by the sponsors, the relatives,
and friends invited to the ceremony. The cost of the baptismal robe, the
bonbons, liqueurs, and all other expenses connected with the rite are
defrayed by the Nono. The lowest estimate of the cost is 2_l._ 10_s._,
and, though a great outlay for a poor family, they are never known to be
omitted.

The child, held by the godfather, is met at the church door by the
officiating priests, who read over it part of the service, the Nono
responding to the questions.

The priest then holds the child in an erect attitude, and standing on the
steps of the church makes the sign of the cross with it. It is then taken
by the godfather and placed for a moment before the shrine of Christ or
the Virgin, according to its sex, while the priests, proceeding to the
font, pour in the hot water and some of the oil brought by the sponsor
and consecrated in the church. The infant is taken from his hands, and in
its original nakedness plunged three times into the font. Three pieces
of hair are cut from its head in the form of crosses and thrown into the
water, which is poured into a consecrated well in the church. The cutting
off of these locks of hair probably had its origin in a custom observed
by the ancient Greeks, who dedicated their hair to the water deities; now
it signifies the dedication of the infants to Christ at their baptism.

The sign of the cross is made on the head and parts of the body with holy
oil, signifying confirmation. The child is then delivered into the hands
of the godmother, who carries it three times round the font while prayers
are being read; it is then taken to the holy gates, where the communion
is administered in both hands with a spoon, so that the three sacraments,
baptism, confirmation, and the Eucharist, are all given to the child
while an unconscious infant.

The service concluded, the party return to the house to partake of
bonbons, liqueurs, etc., and to be decorated with small crosses attached
to favors given as mementoes of the event.

The members of the orthodox church are perhaps the only people who do
not content themselves with making solemn promises for the child, but
conscientiously fulfil them to the best of their ability. The Nono and
Nona, in consequence of the responsibilities they assume, become so
closely connected with their godchildren that marriage between these and
their own children is not permitted.

While the Bulgarian lady in town is setting aside many of the usages
and superstitions attached to the rearing of children, a word or two
about her hardy sister in the rural districts may not be out of place
here. While staying at Bulgarian villages it was very pleasant to me to
watch the simplicity, activity, and wonderful physical strength of the
peasantry.

The Bulgarian women are rather small but thickly set, their chests well
developed, their limbs powerful through constant exercise, and their
whole frames admirably adapted for bearing children. They do not, as a
rule, bear many, as they seldom marry young, and their life of constant
toil and hardship makes them sterile before the natural time.

The delicate touch of refinement has not yet reached these strong
natures, whose systems, kept free from special care and anxiety, remain
proof against shocks that would kill many an apparently strong woman
whose physical training had not been the same. Providence is the sole
guardian that watches over these peasants, and nature the only fountain
from which they derive their support. I remember the ease of a Bulgarian
_bulka_, the wife of a tenant attached to the farm at which I was
staying. She was a fine young woman, bright-looking, clean, and well
dressed; her bare feet were small and well shaped, her mien erect and
free, although she appeared far advanced in pregnancy. Daily I used to
watch her walk out of the yard, with her two large copper pails slung on
a rod gracefully poised on her shoulder, and go to the fountain to fetch
water. One evening I saw her return later than usual; her step seemed
lighter although her pails were full, and her pretty apron, the ends of
which were tucked into her sash, contained something I could not well
discern at a distance, but which, as she approached, I was surprised to
see was a new-born baby, with its tiny feet peeping out on one side.
Passing the door of a neighbor, she smilingly beckoned to her, pointing
to the infant in her apron, and asked for her assistance. I followed
shortly after, curious to see how fared this prodigy of nature. I found
her quietly reposing on the bed that had been hastily prepared for her on
the floor, while her companion was washing the infant. The latter, after
its bath, was thoroughly salted, wrapped in its clothes, and laid by the
side of the mother; but the miseries of the little being did not end
there; a pan was produced, some oil poured into it and set to boil; in
this three eggs were broken and cooked into an omelette. This was placed
on a cloth with a quantity of black pepper sifted over it, and applied to
the head of the unfortunate infant, who began at once to scream in great
distress. I naturally inquired the benefit to be derived in salting and
poulticing the new-born child, and was told that if not salted, its feet
or some other part of its body would exhale offensive odors, and that the
application of the poultice was to solidify the skull and render it proof
against sunstroke. The next morning the mother was up going through the
usual routine of her household work. She assured me that in a few days
she would resume her field labor, carrying her suckling with her, which,
she added, “now fanned by the evening breeze, now scorched by the burning
rays of the sun, would all the same brave the adverse elements: _Ako ema
strabi jive_ (if it has life to live).”

Struck by the fatalistic meaning of her words, I asked how could a weak
or delicate child stand such a trial. “Stand it!” she repeated, “who
said it did? With us a delicate child does not outlive the year.” The
Archangel would silently come upon it one day as it slumbered under the
shade of some spreading tree and snatch away its innocent soul while
the mother was toiling in the field to gain her daily bread and put by
something for those left behind. “Happy they!” she went on, while hot
tears ran down her cheeks. “Let the little souls depart in peace, and
await in heaven the souls of their unfortunate mothers whom God and
man seem to have abandoned to cruel adversity, heart-rending sorrows,
distress, and despair.” I was deeply affected by this genuine outburst of
grief, and did all in my power to console her.

_Du sublime au ridicule il n’y a qu’un pas!_ Next morning, on a tour I
made round the village, I stepped into a cottage that teemed with little
children, and here I unexpectedly met with my second heroine, who,
although a Spartan in body, was not specially vigorous as to mind. My
other Bulgarian _bulka_ was a fat, jolly little woman verging towards
middle age, the mother of ten children, most of whom had come by twins in
rapid succession. The two youngest, born the day before, were just now
reposing in kneading-troughs, violently rocked by their elder sisters,
while the mother, surrounded by this happy family, was occupied in
kneading bread.

As she saw me come in she advanced and welcomed me with the usual
salutation. I questioned her about her children, and how she managed to
bring up and feed such a number, often having the care of two infants
at a time. “Oh,” said she, “it is no trouble. I and my cow, being two,
manage between us to set the little mites on their legs. Yesterday, two
hours after the arrival of my two children,” pointing to the troughs, “my
cow poked her head in at the door lowing for me and for her calf. What
could I do? I got up and milked her as usual, and sent her to her young
one, while I fed my numerous family with her milk. We peasants who till
the ground have not much time to think about ourselves or to give to
our children, who cannot begin too early to accustom themselves to the
hardships that await them through life. When the troubles of maternity
are greater than usual, the oldest shepherd of the village is called in
and performs for us the services of a doctor, and when any one among us
is ailing, frictions and aromatic potions will cure him.”




CHAPTER XIII.

FOOD.

    A Turkish Kitchen—Turkish Meals—Dinner—Coffee—European
    Innovations—Turkish Cookery—The Sultan’s Kitchen—Turkish
    Gourmets—Economy of Food—Hospitality—Greek and Bulgarian
    Food—Lent Dishes—European Manners among the Greeks—Armenian
    Gluttony—Marriages with Cooks—Jewish Food—A Bulgarian
    Ménage—Experiences of a Dinner in the Opium Country—Refreshment
    to Visitors—Tatlou—Sherbet—Coffee—Wine and Spirits—Recipe for
    Making Coffee _à la Turca_—Milk—Cheese—Sour Cream—A Diplomatic
    Coup—Cook-shops.


A Turkish kitchen is a spacious building, roughly constructed, and,
in the dwellings of the rich, generally detached from the rest of the
house. A deep arched opening made in the wall facing the door forms the
foundation of the cooking-range, which is raised about three feet from
the ground and consists of a row of _Ogaks_—holes with grates in them
over a sort of ash-bed, where the _Kebab_, or roast, is cooked and the
smaller dishes kept warm. A sink of a primitive description occupies one
side of the kitchen, and a plate-rack, containing the cooking utensils,
another. The side facing the house is of open lattice-work; the floor
is invariably of stone. Great attention is paid to keeping the culinary
utensils, which are all of copper, clean and bright; but order and
neatness in other respects are entirely disregarded, and there are few
of those arrangements that render an English kitchen such a pleasant
and interesting apartment. A tin lamp, such as has been used from time
immemorial, is hung at one side of the chimney, and gives but a very dim
light.

The kitchen is generally included in the department of the Haremlik,
and is presided over by one or two negresses, who make very good cooks.
The fresh provisions are purchased daily by the _Ayvas_, or purveyor,
generally an Armenian, and passed in through the _Dulap_, a revolving
cupboard in the wall between the Haremlik and Selamlik, used for most
communications between the two departments; a loud knock on either side
being answered by a servant who comes to hear what is wanted.

The Turks have two meals a day; one, _kahvalto_, between ten and eleven,
and the other, _yemek_, at sunset. One or two cups of black coffee
is all they lake in the early morning. The dinner is brought into
the dining-room of the Haremlik on a large circular copper tray, and
deposited on the floor; a similar tray is placed on a stool and covered
with a common calico cloth. On this are placed a number of saucers
containing _hors d’œuvres_, a salt-cellar, a pepper-box, and a portion of
bread for each person. A leather pad occupies the centre, on which the
dishes are placed in succession, and the company sit cross-legged round
the tray. Dinner is announced by a slave—the hostess leads the way into
the _Yemek oda_, or dining-room. Servants approach and pour water over
the hands from _Ibriks_, or curious ewers, holding _Leyens_, or basins,
to catch it as it falls; others offer towels as napkins to use during
the meal. As many as eight or ten persons can sit round these trays. The
hostess, if she be of higher rank than her guests, is the first to dip
her spoon into the soup-tureen, politely inviting them to do the same; if
her rank be inferior to that of any one of her guests, they are invited
to take precedence.

Turkish soups resemble very thick broth, and are altogether unlike those
found on European tables. After the soup has been sparingly partaken of,
it is removed on a sign from the hostess and replaced by the other dishes
in succession. The sweets are eaten between the courses. The left hand
is used to convey the food to the mouth, the thumb and two first fingers
doing the duty of forks.

It is considered a mark of great attention on the part of the hostess to
pick up the daintiest bit of food, and place it in the mouth of any of
her guests. _Pilaf_, the national dish, composed principally of rice, and
_Hochaf_ (stewed fruits, iced), are the last dishes placed on the table.
Pure water is the only drink allowed in the _Haremlik_, and is handed,
when required, in tumblers held by slaves standing behind the company.
Before leaving the _Yemek oda_, the _Ibriks_ and _Leyens_ are again
resorted to. On re-entering the drawing-room, coffee and cigarettes are
immediately handed round. The way in which coffee is served is one of the
prettiest of the old Turkish customs. All the slaves and attendants enter
the rooms and stand at the lower end with folded arms. The coffee-pot
and cup-stands of gold or silver are placed on a tray held by the
_Kalfa_, or head-servant; attached to the tray is an oval crimson cloth,
richly worked with gold. The coffee is poured out, and the cups offered
separately by the other servants, who again retire to the lower end of
the room till they are required to take the empty cups.

On my last visit to the capital I found many changes, and noticed that
many European customs had been adopted in some of the principal houses,
tables and chairs having replaced the dinner-trays in most of them, and
even a complete European dinner-service might in some houses be found
in use. I happened to visit a Pasha’s harem, and was invited to stay
to luncheon; on being ushered into the dining room, I was agreeably
surprised to find myself in a spacious apartment, furnished in the
European style, and surrounded on three sides by a lovely garden where
the rose, the jasmine, and the orange blossomed in profusion, breathing
their delicious perfume into the room through the open windows. Three
tables, richly laid, stood in the room; a large one, occupying the
centre, and two smaller ones in corners. The centre one was reserved
for the _Hanoum_ and such of her guests as were entitled by their rank
to be admitted to her table, the second for her daughter and her young
companions, and the third for guests of an inferior degree. The luncheon
went off very well, although one or two of the company appeared little
accustomed to the use of knives and forks, which they held, indeed, in
their hands, but, forgetful of the fact, conveyed the food to their
mouths with their fingers, and consequently made a few scratches on their
noses. This _maladresse_ occasioning some merriment to the others, these
offenders against European customs laid down the dangerous implements
and took to their own method of eating, a very good one of its kind and
demanding much more skill than the European manner. There is a neatness
in the Turkish way of manipulating the food that can only be acquired
by care and long practice; the thumb and two fingers alone must touch
the meat, the rest of the hand remaining perfectly clean and free from
contact with it.

Another incident of an amusing nature would have tended to increase our
merriment had not Turkish equanimity imposed upon us the necessity of
ignoring it. Mustard, an unusual condiment on a Turkish table, was handed
round, perhaps in honor of my presence. An old lady, not knowing what
it was, took a spoonful, and before any one had time to interfere, had
swallowed it. Her face became crimson, tears ran down her cheeks, she
sneezed and appeared choking; but at last, with a supreme effort, she
regained her composure, and looked as pleasant as circumstances would
allow.

The use of knives and forks, though fast becoming general among the
higher classes at Stamboul, is not yet much introduced into the interior.
During my residence in one of the provincial towns of European Turkey,
these articles were occasionally borrowed from me by a rich bey for his
grand entertainments. The forks I lent were electro-plate; but when they
were returned I found silver ones among them, and discovered that, some
of mine having been stolen or lost, the bey had them copied by native
workmen.

The most refined Turkish cookery is not costly; the materials consist
of mutton, fowl, fish, flour, rice, milk, honey, sugar, vegetables, and
fruit. All the dishes are cooked in clarified butter in a simple manner,
and fat or oil is seldom used. The average number of dishes sent to table
in a wealthy house is nine at each meal. The meat is always over-cooked
and badly served, except the lamb roasted whole, stuffed with rice and
pistachios, and the _Kebab_. The latter consists of small pieces of meat
cooked on skewers, and served on a _Peta_, a species of batter pudding.
Another favorite dish is the _Imam Baildi_, or “The Imam fainted;” it is
composed of aubergines and onions cooked in oil, and has the following
rather vapid little history attached to it. An Imam stole some oil from
the mosque in his care, the whole of which his ingenious wife used in
cooking a dish she had just invented. This was being partaken of with
much relish by the Imam till he was informed that all the oil had been
consumed in its preparation, when he immediately fainted. Some of these
dishes are excellent, and are relished even by Europeans.

Two _Sofras_, or tables, are furnished by the cook at each meal; one for
the _Haremlik_ and the other for the _Selamlik_. After the master and
mistress have left the tables the servants take the vacant seats. The
supply is unlimited, and much waste and extravagance ensue, owing to the
number of guests of high and low degree that are always expected to drop
in to dinner.

During Abdul-Medjid’s reign I visited the imperial kitchen, an immense
establishment, giving employment to 500 cooks and scullions. Among some
curious details I learnt respecting this department, one referring to the
functions of the head-cook may not be uninteresting. This unfortunate
individual was chained to the stove by being obliged to provide an hourly
meal for the Sultan, whose repasts depended upon his caprice, and who
required that food should be ready for him at any moment.

Abdul-Aziz was an enormous eater, and a great gourmet; he was often known
to empty a dish of six eggs cooked in butter, with _Pastourmah_, a kind
of dried meat, in a few minutes.

It was one of his peculiarities to throw his food at the heads of his
ministers when displeased with them, and this favorite dish often
experienced that fate. During the latter part of his reign his meals were
prepared in the harem, under the superintendence of the Validé Sultana,
who enveloped every dish in crape, and tied and sealed it with her own
seal before sending it into the Selamlik.

Another illustrious man, A⸺ K⸺ Pasha, surpassed his august sovereign in
gluttony; while in Albania, I was assured by more than one eye-witness
that he frequently consumed the whole of a stuffed lamb at a meal.

Bread forms the fundamental part of a poor man’s food; with it he eats
_kattuk_, which comprises cheese, treacle, halva, fruit, onions, garlic,
etc., etc. Fruit is extremely cheap and good, and is largely consumed by
all classes. Poor families can subsist upon from a shilling to one and
sixpence a day.

In the Turkish quarter, where the rich live side by side with the poor,
the latter have often the opportunity of eating a good dinner; they
have only to drop in at the rich man’s door, and hospitality is at once
extended to them. This kind of charity, however, is greatly on the
decrease, owing, no doubt, to the financial embarrassment generally felt
throughout the country.

The kitchen department, both in Greek and Bulgarian families, is
superintended by the mistress of the house, who orders dinner, and daily
or weekly regulates the expenses.

The food of the middle classes of the Christians differs only from that
of the Turks in the addition of the Lent dishes. During this period the
poorer orders consume more garlic, onions, olives, and dried fish.

The Greeks appear to have been the first of the natives of this country
to adopt the custom of eating with knives and forks and making their
meals at a table. Except in wealthy houses in the capital, their table
arrangements are very deficient and inelegant; till very recently the
napkins and table-cloths were either home-woven or made of unbleached
calico. The knives and forks were of steel and iron, clumsy productions
from Austria and Bohemia, and the glass and crockery from the same
countries were of uncouth forms, sold at high prices. The competition in
the sale of these articles that France and England have of late years
established in the country has not only created a marked improvement in
the quality of these necessaries, but has also reduced their prices and
brought them within the reach of all. Most families are possessed of a
certain amount of table silver, in the shape of forks, spoons, etc.;
these are, however, being replaced by electro-plate, now abundantly
introduced.

The Jews and Armenians have many strange and interesting customs in the
matter of eating. The Armenians are renowned for their gluttony and
extreme fondness for good things. Until lately they took their meals
in a manner very similar to the Turks. They would use their knives and
forks to a certain extent, but their fingers much more. The lower orders
still sit on the floor round a table about eight inches high. Their
dishes, with the addition of a few national ones, resemble those of
the Turks, and they are famous for the manufacture of very rich sweets
of various kinds. The kitchen, being the most important department in
an Armenian house, demands the daily supervision of both master and
mistress; the former has the supreme voice in selecting the dishes, and
the latter often takes an active part in their preparation. I knew a
wealthy Armenian who married the daughter of his cook in order to secure
the permanent services of the mother. He assured me of the perfect bliss
the alliance had brought him in the possession of a pretty wife and the
daily enjoyment of the _dolmas_ made by his mother-in-law. Some time
ago a well-known and wealthy Englishman fell in love with and married
a worthless Armenian girl, having seen her, from a neighboring house,
preparing the same dish. He had, however, reason to repent thus making
his appetite his only consideration; life became no longer endurable with
such an unsympathetic helpmate, and he absconded and returned to his
native land, it is to be hoped a wiser man.

The Jews in the East observe, with the greatest strictness, all the
outward forms of their religion, and particularly those relating to food,
whose preparation is regulated by a great many strange and complicated
laws.

All flesh is _Tourfa_, or unclean, unless the animal has been killed
in the presence of a Rabbi, who hands to the butcher a special knife
(after having examined the animal in order to ascertain if it be clean
or unclean) with which he must sever the windpipe at a single stroke;
should he fail to do so the animal is considered unclean and cannot be
eaten. Even in case of success, parts of the flesh only are acceptable to
them, and all the fat adhering to the muscles must be removed before it
is cooked. Cheese, wine, and sundry other provisions are not considered
clean unless made by Israelites; butter is seldom bought, and only when
sold in skins with the hairy side turned inwards. Six hours must elapse
before a Hebrew can touch cheese, milk, or butter after having partaken
of meat, though he is at liberty to eat meat directly after these. The
dishes are cooked in sesame oil, an ingredient that renders them quite
distasteful to any but Jewish palates; this oil is also used for making
pastry, which is very heavy and indigestible. In fact, their cookery
is so peculiar and unpalatable that when a Jew entertains Gentiles he
generally resorts to foreign dishes. When a Turk or Christian wishes to
extend his hospitality to an Israelite, he is obliged to have most of the
food prepared by a cook of the Hebrew faith.

A duty on all that is _Tourfa_ is imposed by the Rabbi of each community;
this tax, amounting to a considerable sum, is set apart for charitable
purposes, and for the support of schools for the poor. It is, on the
whole, a strange kind of charity, for after all it is only taking the
money out of the pockets of the poor in one form to give it back to them
in another, and the tax falls heavily on the Jewish communities, since
they are principally composed of poor people. Several attempts have been
made by them, especially in Salonika, to have it removed, but hitherto
their efforts have been fruitless.

The hospitality of the Jews is, with a few exceptions, limited to members
of their own race, and even then not very largely practised. The customs
of the Israelites who have received a European education differ very
little from those of the Franks.

During the numerous journeys I have had occasion to make in Turkey I have
always found genuine and hearty hospitality offered to me both by Turks
and Christians. I generally accepted that of the latter, as it is more
in unison with our own customs and habits. Every effort was made on the
part of my entertainers to please me and anticipate my wants, and I have
often been both delighted and surprised to find in the heart of barbarous
little towns such comforts as a bedstead, basin, and table service,
besides other articles, the use of which did not always appear quite
clear to their possessors. In one Bulgarian house, for instance, I was
offered wine in a feeding-bottle, which was handed in turn to the rest of
the company. This ludicrous utensil would probably have been refused if
fate had not ordained me to be the first baby to drink from it.

As a contrast to this incident I must not forget to mention one of a
far superior order. Passing through Sofia, I put up at the house of a
wealthy Bulgarian Chorbadji; it was a large building, pretty comfortably
furnished, and very neat and clean in appearance. Scarcely had I rested
the needful time after my journey and partaken of _Slatko_, or preserved
fruit, and coffee, when my hostess came to ask if I were not desirous
of taking a bath of milk and rose-water. This proposal, denoting such
a high standard of luxury, took me by surprise, and my desire to know
its origin exceeded the wish of taking immediate advantage of it. The
question had to be solved, and I thought the best way of explaining it
would be to ask my hostess if this was an indispensable part of the
toilet of the _élite_. It was now her turn to look surprised. “Oh, dear
no, _Gospoyer_,” she exclaimed, “I made the offer believing it to be
one of your own customs, as two English maidens who lodged in my house
some time ago daily made use of what they called ‘a most refreshing and
indispensable luxury.’ Oh, dear no, Gospoyer,” she repeated, “we are
too thrifty a people to think of wasting a quantity of good milk that
could be converted into so much cheese and butter; but you Franks are an
extravagant race.” There was a good deal of truth in what she said, so,
making a compromise in these good things, I willingly accepted the offer
of the rose-water, which is plentiful in the town, as Sofia is not far
from the principal rose-growing districts.

_Autre pays, autres mœurs._ During a flying visit I paid to Kara Hissar,
in Asia Minor, I took up my quarters at the house of an opium-growing
grandee. The dinner offered to me was good, and even refined, but for
a slight but peculiar flavor to which I was unaccustomed; I partook of
it heartily, and afterwards, in order to please my hostess, accepted
a cigarette. Presently I felt a strange languor creeping over me, my
head whirled, my ears began to tingle, my eyesight dimmed, and, my
eyelids heavily closing, I soon found myself in the fool’s paradise
of opium-eaters. All sorts of sweet dreams took possession of my
imagination, crossed by the most ludicrous thoughts and desires. I
imagined that trains were running down my arms; next my travelling-boots,
which I had exchanged for slippers, attracted my attention, and although
not very large, they took to my deluded vision the proportions of a
grotto, towards which I made a desperate rush, and soon felt exhausted
with the efforts I made to enter it. My hostess took the form of a rat,
from whose presence I vainly tried to escape; I went towards the open
window, where the pure night-air somewhat refreshed me, and the twinkle
of the myriad bright stars raised my mind to higher thoughts, and
sensations of an indescribably delicious character took possession of
me. I became poetical, and surprised my entertainers by my declamations
which, needless to say, were quite unintelligible to them. I finally
retired to rest, and sleep overtaking me consigned all to oblivion. On
awaking next morning, I felt very uncomfortable; in fact, I was ill. The
meal of which I had partaken had been cooked in poppy-oil, always used
for the purpose in that part of the country, and said not to have any
effect on the inhabitants, who are accustomed to it from childhood.
The cigarette, it appeared, was also strongly impregnated with the
same narcotic. Let my experience be a warning to travellers in the
opium-growing country.

It is the custom throughout Turkey to offer as refreshment the _Tatlou_,
a rich kind of preserve made from fruits, or flowers such as roses,
lilies, violets, and orange-blossoms. It is brought in soon after the
entrance of a visitor. The service used for the purpose may be of the
most costly or of the simplest description; that used in Turkish harems
is always of some precious metal, and comprises a salver, two preserve
basins, a double spoon-basket, and a number of goblets and spoons. The
edge of the salver, like that used for the coffee, is surrounded by a
gold-embroidered cloth; the slave who offers it does so on bended knee.

In addition to the _Tatlou_, in Turkish Konaks, sherbet, immediately
followed by coffee, is offered to visitors when about to leave or when
the hostess is desirous of being relieved of their company. This beverage
is made from the juices of fruits, cooled with ice; it is brought in on
a tray in goblets. A number of slaves holding richly embroidered napkins
(on one end of which the goblet is placed, resting on the palm of the
hand), offer the cup to the guests, who wipe their lips on the other end.
A fermented drink, called _Boza_, made from millet seed, is very largely
consumed by the lower orders; it is of two kinds, _tatlou_ and _ekshi_,
sweet and sour. The latter, possessing intoxicating properties, is thick
and muddy, and has a peculiar earthy taste.

Wine, both good and abundant, is consumed in moderation by Jews,
Christians, and Europeans, and of late years “La Jeune Turquie” has
manifested a decided partiality for it. Turks generally dine in the
Selamlik, where those who are addicted to drink (a custom prevalent
among the higher orders) begin some hours before the evening meal to
partake freely of _mezzeliks_, which they wash down with copious draughts
of _raki_. It is not rare to find Turks who have never tasted wine or
spirits in their lives; but one seldom hears of a Turk once addicted to
their use who does not nightly make a gross abuse of them, a habit which
tends greatly to increase the vices of Turkish society. It is repugnant
to point out the many evils that result from such orgies, and would be
still more so to illustrate them with the many incidents that have come
under my notice.

A true follower of the Prophet will refrain from wine, as prohibited
by the Koran. The popular belief about the cause of the prohibition is
that Mohammed when on his way to the mosque one day saw a band of his
followers, whose happy looks and gay laughter made a pleasant impression
upon him. He inquired the cause, and was told that they were lively
through having partaken of wine; he approvingly smiled and passed on.
On his return the scene of merriment was changed to one of strife and
bloodshed, and he was informed that it was the result of drunkenness. He
then laid a curse upon the liquor that had occasioned the disaster, and
upon all who should thenceforth indulge in it.

Coffee in Turkey is prepared in a manner far superior to that of any
other country. I will give the recipe for its preparation for the benefit
of any who may like to try it. Water is placed in a peculiarly-shaped
coffee-pot with a long handle and a beak-shaped spout. This is pushed
sideways against a charcoal fire, and when the water has arrived at the
boiling point it is withdrawn, a small quantity of its contents poured
into a cup and a few spoonfuls of finely-pulverized coffee (according to
the number of cups required) is mixed in the coffee-pot, which is again
placed against the fire and the contents gently shaken up once or twice
while a thick scum rises on the surface. Before it has time to boil up
again it is again withdrawn and the water that had been poured out is
put back. It is then replaced on the fire, and when finally withdrawn is
gently knocked once or twice, and after standing a few moments is poured
out and served.

Sugar, not taken by the Turks, may be added before or after boiling.
There is some little art required in the making, but the quality of the
coffee and the manner in which it is roasted are the most important
points. The roasting must be done to a turn, leaving the coffee, when
ground, a rich golden brown.

Milk, very plentiful in the country, is made into very indifferent
cheese, excellent clotted cream, called _Kaymak_, and sour cream,
called _Yaourt_. The latter, being very cheap and good, forms a great
part of the nourishment of the people; it is prepared and sold in large
dairy-pans, which the vendors carry on their heads. One of these pans
served some years ago in a practical joke that the gay _jeunesse_ of
our Embassy played in the Prince’s Islands on an Armenian tutor, who
mentor-like followed three young ladies in their walks, evidently to the
dislike of the lively ladies and the scheming young diplomatists, who had
made up their minds to steal a kiss from the cheeks of the young beauties
should occasion offer. During a meeting of the parties, a _Yaourtji_
passing by at the moment seemed admirably suited for their purpose; one
of the gentlemen, famous for his freaks, seized the basin, and poured
its contents over the head of the unfortunate tutor, who, blinded by the
cream running down his face, was unable to notice what passed.

_Ashji Dukyan_, or cook-shops, are numerous in all the bazars of Eastern
towns. Those at Stamboul have a great reputation, especially the
_Kebabjis_, where _Kebab_ and fruit only are sold. The food is served on
copper dishes, and the customers sit on stools round little tables in
neat gardens attached to the establishments.

The _Ashji dukyan_ contain on one side a long range for cooking, upon
which are placed bright copper pans, whence issues the steam from a
number of savory dishes. The other side is occupied by a platform, upon
which the customers sit cross-legged round low _Sofras_, to partake of
the dishes of their choice plentifully placed before them, accompanied by
bread and water _ad libitum_.




CHAPTER XIV.

DRESS.

    The Old Turkish Dress—European Innovations—Present Dress of
    Upper Class of Turks—Peasant Dress—Dress of Ulema—Ladies’
    In-door Costume in Old Times—Out-door Dress—_Yashmaks_
    and _Feridjés_—Green—The Spinach Field of Broussa—Women’s
    Dress of the Lower Orders—Children—The Dress of Turkish
    Ladies in the Present Day—Ludicrous Use of European
    Garments—Conservatism in Dress among the Peasants—Dress of the
    Rayahs—Macedonia—Thessaly—Epirus—Bulgaria—Inappropriateness
    of Dress to Different Occasions—Turkish Négligé—An
    Armenian Wedding Conversation—Eastern Notions of European
    Manners—Amusements in Turkey—Disappearance of the Old
    Exercises—Hunting—Battues—Wrestling Matches—Musicians
    and Story-Tellers—Kara Guez and Hadji Eyvat—Dancing
    Girls—Clowns—Farces—Performing Bears—Pipe and
    Coffee—Cafés—Amusements of the Rayahs—Greek and Bulgarian
    Dances—Pleasure Excursions—Saints’ Days.


On visiting the East the first thing that attracts the attention of the
traveller is the variety of costume he meets at every step, especially
among the Mohammedan population.

The dress of the first Ottomans was simple. Othman, the founder of the
Empire, is represented as seated on a square throne, similar to that of
the Shahs of Persia, ornamented with inlaid mother of pearl. He wore on
his head a red cloth cap half buried in a Tatar turban, and called _Burki
Khorasani_; wide trousers, and a bright-colored jacket descending to
his knees. A splendid yataghan was fastened in his belt, and a flowing
_kaftan_, surmounted by a red collar, enveloped the whole. The boots or
shoes were of bright scarlet or yellow.

Sultan Orkhan and his Grand Vizir devoted much time to the regulation
of the forms and colors of garments and head-dresses. These measures
subsequently embraced all the details of the fashion, material, linings,
and borders of the kaftans, dolmans, and pelisses of honor worn by
the different functionaries at state ceremonies. Costume became the
distinguishing mark of rank among the ruling race, and the token of creed
among the subject nations.

It was, however, the head covering that was at all times the part of
oriental dress that received the greatest attention. At the time of the
conquest the Greeks wore embroidered or gilt caps, the Turcomans caps of
red felt, and the Ottomans, as a distinction, adopted white felt caps to
be worn by the military and civil servants. Their shape and the color of
the turbans that encircled them depended upon the rank and profession of
the wearer; they were of varied form and color, bright and picturesque,
and harmonized well with the equally variegated and rich pelisses and
kaftans of the Mohammedans. The garments worn by these dignitaries
were of rich tissues and fine cloths, and consisted of wide and long
_shalvars_, or trousers, vests, rich shawls, girdles, and jackets of
different shapes.

By degrees, however, great changes were introduced into the national
dress, which became extremely rich and costly, abounding in gold and
embroidery. Among the most striking of these costumes was that of the
sailors and officers of the navy, which was of scarlet cloth richly
worked with gold.

The gradual abandonment of all these gorgeous costumes by the Ottomans
dates from the time the state began to feel the weight of the immense
expense they caused, at the beginning of the present century. The
uniforms of the army and navy were changed, and the European style began
to be adopted by the Sultan and by the civil employés; and the fashion
was gradually introduced among the townspeople of all nationalities.

The present costume of the upper class of Turks is a European frock-coat
buttoned up to the throat, European trousers, and the fez—sole relic
of the old dress. The uniforms of government officers, according to
their rank, are richly embroidered, and on great occasions covered with
decorations and precious stones.

The Ottomans illustrate their love of display and wealth by a
proverb which says: “_Akli Frengistan, Mali Hindustan, Saltanat Ali
Osman_,”—“Mind is the gift of the European, wealth that of the Hindoo,
and pomp that of the Osmanli.”

The peasants and poorer orders of the Turks have to a great extent
adhered to their primitive costume, which is principally composed of
coarse woollen and linen stuffs; those among the well-to-do, who still
adhere to this style of dress, make a great display of gold and silk
embroidery; the turban, however, has for the most part been abandoned in
the towns, and replaced by the fez, worn by all classes.

The dress of the majority of the Ulema and Softas has changed only
with respect to the turban, which has been reduced and made of uniform
size, and to the materials of the dress, which are now less costly than
formerly and of European manufacture. Those members of these orders who
belong to “La jeune Turquie” have modified their dress by the adoption
of European articles of apparel which they wear under their _jubbé_, or
pelisse.

The ancient in-door costume worn by ladies of rank consisted of a gown
of cloth or damask silk, embroidered with bouquets of flowers wrought in
silk, with a border of similar workmanship. Opening upon the breast, it
displayed a handsome silk gauze shirt, the sleeves of which hung loosely
at the wrists, surmounted by a velvet jacket, richly worked with gold
thread. The round, flat cap worn on the head was covered with pearls
and precious stones; the shoes or slippers were equally adorned with
embroidery and jewels.

The garments that served to shelter the form of the Turkish lady from the
public gaze when walking or riding abroad consisted first of a piece of
white muslin placed over the head and coming down to the eyes; another
and larger piece was placed over the mouth, covering the lower part of
the nose, and secured at the back of the head. This covered the neck and
chest, and hung some distance down the back. A cloak of cloth, silk,
merino, or some lighter fabric, covered the whole person; a rectangular
piece, which hung from the shoulders and reached nearly to the ground,
completely hid the form of the wearer. The trousers, drawn up a little
above the ankle, did not appear. The yellow morocco boot was worn under a
golosh of the same color.

In some parts of Asia Minor a black shade, made of horsehair, covers the
eyes, and the head is thickly enveloped in calico coverings, no part of
the face being visible. The _Mahrama_ is also frequently seen in all
parts of Turkey. This consists of a large piece of colored stuff fastened
at the waist and brought over the head; the face is covered with a
colored silk handkerchief.

The _yashmak_ (veil) and _feridjé_ (cloak) are universally worn by
Turkish women of all classes out of doors. The former varies, according
to the rank and place of residence of the wearers, from ordinary calico
to the finest tarlatan, while the latter may be of almost any material
or color. Green, the color of the Prophet’s garments, is sacred to the
Mohammedans, and only a certain branch of the Turkish family is entitled
to wear it on their heads. Those of both sexes that enjoy this privilege
are called _Mollahs_. Green _feridjés_ can, however, be indiscriminately
used by Mohammedan women, and the preference for this color is so
strongly marked in some localities that cloaks of other hues are seldom
seen. In the town of Broussa, for instance, many years ago, the dark
green _feridjé_, with a square veil of coarse linen enveloping the head,
and tied under the chin over another piece covering the mouth, was the
favorite out-of-door costume of all classes. During a visit that Sultan
Abdul-Medjid paid to this town, the whole population turned out and
lined the sides of the road during his entry. The mass of Turkish women,
distinguishable from a certain distance, presented a peculiar spectacle,
which drew from the Sultan the following unromantic remark on the veiled
beauties who were impatiently waiting to gaze upon the Padishah: “The
hanoums of Broussa may be famous for their personal charms and beauty;
but thus equipped and grouped their Padishah has seen little in them, and
can only compare them to a field of spinach dotted with snowflakes!”

The clothing of the women of the lower class is generally of coarse
printed calico, of which they make quilted jackets and undergarments, but
as a rule they appear very thinly clad, and their apparel is made of such
poor material that it seems almost transparent. The children usually wear
long quilted cotton jackets fastened round the waist by a _chevré_, or
worked handkerchief, but strings and buttons seem to be almost unknown.
Men’s garments are generally made in the public shops, and both cut out
and sewed by men. The shirt and drawers are perfectly loose, and would
fit equally well almost anybody. The trousers consist of a long piece of
cloth folded, with the ends sewed together, as well as one side, with
the exception of two openings left at the corners for introducing the
feet; it is in fact a bag, pure and simple, with two holes at the bottom
corners, and open at the top. The vests of the men are made of striped
cloth and have long tight sleeves; the girdle is a shawl bound tightly
round the waist. The jacket has various forms. It is short, with sleeves
coming down only to the elbows; or these extend to, or even beyond, the
hand, and are close, or slit open from the shoulder down; they may be
buttoned, left to hang loosely, or tied in a knot behind the back. In
every case Oriental clothing lies in folds about the person, but easy
locomotion, or the free use of the limbs, is impossible.

The transformations in dress among Turkish ladies, both with regard to
material and fashion, are most disadvantageous. Among the higher orders
the European dress has been adopted for in-door wear, resulting in
extravagance, bad taste, and incongruity. The description of one or two
of the least striking of these toilettes will suffice to give some idea
of the manner in which Parisian fashions are generally understood and
worn by Turkish ladies. Last year, when paying a visit to the wife of
the Governor-General of P⸺, I found that lady with her hair uncombed,
wearing a red cotton dressing gown made in the _princesse_ style. Over
this was a yellow satin jacket, secured round the waist by a gold belt.
Round her neck was a _collier_ of the rarest pink coral of most perfect
workmanship. When this lady returned my call, a very large quantity of
fine jewellery was displayed on her person, but her dress was so badly
made and ill-assorted as to make her pretty little person bear a great
resemblance to that of a polichinelle. Madame F. Pasha, who succeeded her
shortly afterwards, offered a still more grotesque and ludicrous picture,
both in her own person and in those of the suite of slaves and companions
that accompanied her. She was very plain and of a certain age; her
costume consisted of a skirt of common crimson silk with yellow velvet
trimmings, surmounted by a blue jacket braided with violet. Round her
neck was a scarlet tie, and on her head an orange-colored _bashbagh_, or
turban, with diamonds and brilliants enough to represent all the bright
luminaries of heaven.

Her little daughter, a child of seven, wore a red cotton skirt, with a
quilted jacket of violet silk, and a European hat, in which pink and
white satin ribbons predominated. Some of her ladies-in-waiting wore
tarlatan dresses over dirty tumbled skirts which had been washed at
some remote date and all the tucks ironed the wrong way. The wife of
another pasha, after taking off her feridjé, as is usual on paying calls,
disclosed a wrapper made of common chintz, of a gaudy pattern, such as
is commonly used for furniture-covers. The length of this robe, however,
was insufficient to conceal an exceedingly dirty though most elaborate
cambric petticoat of Parisian make.

The _chaussure_ of Turkish ladies, be it of the last French fashion,
or of the oriental make and covered with gems and embroidery, never
fits well, nor is properly worn. Their stockings are never darned, and
are used till they fall to pieces; as to the manner in which they are
secured the less said the better; it is very improbable that this part
of a Turkish beauty’s raiment will ever have the chance of instituting
a second Order of the Garter. After contemplating this disparaging but
true picture of a modern Turkish lady’s dress, the readers will doubtless
agree with me in preferring the elegant costume of the old-fashioned
class, or the white _gedjlik_, still a popular négligé costume, with
the bare white feet half hidden by a pretty oriental slipper. These,
together with the characteristic _shalvar_, _intari_, and _koushak_, and
the graceful _fotoz_ that surmounted the abundant locks which fell in
multitudinous tresses over the shoulders of the Turkish lady of other
days, gave her a _cachet_ of distinction entirely lost in the present day.

After the conquest strict laws were issued as to the form of the
head-coverings to be worn by the rayahs, determining their shape and
color, and the form of the shoes and _kaftans_ in particular. The
_kalpak_, or hat, was black, and in the shape of an immense pumpkin or
miniature balloon. The _kaftan_ also differed in form and color from that
worn by Mussulmans; and the shoes were black, or of a dark plum-color. No
exterior sign of luxury or wealth was allowed out of doors.

As fashion and custom changed, these regulations fell into disregard,
and each race in towns may now dress as it chooses, and adopt its
national costume or European garments without exciting either surprise
or disapproval. Generally speaking, it is the use of the latter raiment
that has acquired ascendency among townspeople, and the national costume
is more peculiar to the peasantry, and varies according to nationality in
elegance and comfort, but never changes its original form.

The Turkish peasant adheres to his extensive turban, and seldom exchanges
it for the more simple fez; the Greek continues to wear his wide _vrakiá_
and blue _servéta_; and the Bulgarian his _potour_ and _gougla_ (black
sheepskin cap). The Armenian is still attired in his long _jubbé_,
or loose coat and blue turban, and the Jew in his floating robes of
immemorial form. Some years ago a Turkish peasant from one of the towns
of the interior visited the capital. On his return I asked him what he
had seen there to strike his fancy. “What did I see?” replied the good
old fellow, stroking his beard in dismay. “I was astonished to see the
deformity of human nature in that great city; the women now have two
heads, one planted on the top of the other, and the hump, which we in our
village consider a terrible calamity, seems to be a general affliction,
but has descended much below the shoulders! May Allah have mercy upon us;
but such preposterous changes as these must to a certainty be the signs
of bad times!” The sensible man alluded to the enormous chignons and
tournures then in fashion, and perhaps he was not far wrong in his ideas.

Fashions, like coins, will penetrate everywhere and find currency among
the most savage, who are glad to purchase finery at any cost. Eighteen
years ago, when I first visited the town of N⸺ in Upper Albania, I was
honored by visits from the wives of all the dignitaries of the town. The
first batch of callers consisted of about twenty ladies, whose arrival
was announced to me at six o’clock in the morning, and who could with
difficulty be persuaded by my people that the Franks were always in
their beds at that time, and received at a much later hour of the day.
“Well, if that is the _Inglis moda_, we too must adopt it!” said the most
enlightened lady. By the time they again appeared I was quite ready to
receive them, and not a little curious to see what kind of birds these
were that had flocked together so early to visit me. In the mean time,
as a great admirer and reader of the works of Lord Byron, I had formed
all kinds of conjectures with regard to the lovely faces and picturesque
costumes I was going to see. The fair maid of Athens, and numberless
other beauties, flitted before my imagination when a heavy tramp of feet
(not at all fairy-like) up the stairs, preceded by the announcement that
the ladies of the Chorbadjis had arrived, brought me back to reality, and
I advanced to receive my guests. And now, what was the spectacle that met
my gaze and deprived me of all control over my risible propensities? A
display of Parisian articles of dress applied in the most indiscriminate
manner, without any regard to the use for which they were manufactured
and the sex of the persons for whom they were designed! Stiff black
satin stocks encircled the fair necks of some of the ladies, assorting
queerly with their graceful and rich national costume, and making an
ugly separation between their head-dresses and the fine white crape
chemisettes that veiled so much of their necks as was left uncovered
by elaborately embroidered vests. Below this vest were the graceful
floating scarlet trousers, that should have fallen to the ground like a
skirt, secured only round the ankle by an embroidered cuff; but all the
beauty and grace of this garment were lost in the expansion caused by a
monstrous cage crinoline introduced within it, which gave the otherwise
sylph-like figures of the wearers the appearance of a shapeless balloon
supported on large pairs of gentlemen’s patent-leather boots, proudly
displayed!

The costumes worn in the towns of Thessaly, Epirus, and part of Macedonia
are half Greek and half Albanian. They comprise a variety of forms, all
more or less original and picturesque. The headgear of the men is usually
the small Turkish fez, surmounted by a blue tassel; the wider and longer
Greek fez is also worn, falling with its long tassel on one side of the
head. The tight braided vest and jacket with hanging sleeves over a white
linen shirt form the upper part of the dress; the lower comprises the
_fustanella_, or white kilt, or the wide and long _vrakiá_, descending
to the ankle, or only covering the knee, terminated by tight gaiters of
braided cloth. The _servéta_, or silk girdle, is generally of a bright
color, and often richly embroidered with gold and silk thread. Those worn
by the peasantry are frequently of gray tweed worked with darker braid,
and the _fustanella_ is replaced by a linen blouse worn over a pair of
short trousers; gaiters and pointed shoes or sandals complete the dress.

The costume worn by the women varies according to the locality, but is
always very graceful and pretty. The head-dress consists of a flat cloth
or felt cap encircled by embroidered velvet, rows of coins, or other
ornaments, or by a thick braid of hair. The centre is often occupied by a
large pearl ornament. This cap is worn on one side, and the hair under it
is parted in the centre and smoothly brushed over the ears, plaited, or
allowed to hang loose.

The upper part of the body is inclosed in a tight short-waisted bodice,
open in front, down to the middle of the chest, over a fine gauze
chemisette crossed over the bosom; a short and full skirt, or shalvar,
and belt of various patterns and materials are worn in the house. Out of
doors a long jacket is worn, fitting tightly to the figure and reaching
nearly to the feet; it is generally made of fine cloth, plain, or richly
embroidered with gold, and invariably lined with fur; a colored kerchief,
carelessly thrown over the head, completes the costume. The tissues used
for these garments are of silk, cotton, and wool, enlivened by silken and
other embroidery.

The dress of the peasants is very similar, except that it is made of
coarser materials, is plainer, and comprises a great variety of bright
colors.

The dress of the Bulgarian women varies according to the locality.
North of the Balkans it is entirely national, and has a picturesque
appearance, but is heavy and incommodious to the wearer, while that of
the men, though more simple and convenient, is by no means elegant; the
only part of it to which some attention is paid in the rural districts
is the blouse, which is carefully and elaborately embroidered round the
collar and wide sleeves. In Macedonia this attention is extended to the
white turban, which replaces the _gougla_. This is a long towel, the
ends embroidered in tapestry stitch, which is twisted round the red fez,
and one end allowed to fall on the collar, hiding in part the long and
dishevelled hair allowed to grow at the back of the head. This tuft of
hair is sometimes plaited, and bears a great resemblance to the Chinese
coiffure. On feast-days a flower is placed in the turban. The Bulgarians
of the towns have adopted a more Europeanized costume made of _shayak_,
a thick native cloth. These home-woven fabrics are very substantial,
and sometimes the gray and white are beautiful, but the rest are ugly,
especially the shot and striped ones, on account of the colors being
badly assorted. The Bulgarian townspeople generally choose these stuffs
for their garments, and add to their unbecomingness by the uncouth shapes
in which they cut them, the trousers being always either too short or
too loose, and the coats and vests most shapeless and slovenly. This
description does not of course include the higher classes, who pay great
attention to their toilettes.

What is principally wanting in these national costumes is the being
adapted to the occasions on which they are worn. For example, for
every-day wear both sexes choose their plainest suits, and keep them on
from morning till night, whether in the field or in the house. The gala
costumes are of fine cloth, or still more delicate material, and are
donned on feast-days and other great occasions, and once put on are worn
all day long, getting covered with dust out of doors, and yet serving for
the soirée and the dance.

This incongruity also extends to season. The uniform long jackets lined
with fur are worn by the women in winter and in the heat of a long
summer’s day.

There is no evening dress comprised in the wardrobe of an Oriental. The
refinements of society have prescribed none but that which his easy-going
and indolent life claims from him, viz., his gedjlik, or dressing-gown.
The Turk, the Armenian, and the native Jew alike put on this no doubt
delightfully comfortable, but by no means elegant, garment immediately on
re-entering the bosom of their families after the labors of the day are
concluded. This custom is so prevalent among the Turks that as soon as
the return of the _bey_ or _effendi_ is announced the wife unfolds the
wrapper and holds it ready for him to put on. This attire is sometimes
rendered still more négligé by a complete exchange of the day dress for
that commonly appropriate for use at night. The bey or pasha may return
to the Selamlik so attired, and receive his visitors there, should they
be of equal or inferior rank to himself; but if of higher rank he must
receive them in his day costume.

The adoption of the European dress has everywhere created a display of
bad taste. On first changing their costume, the natives proudly profess
a great partiality for it, and call themselves followers of the “à la
Franca,” or Frank fashions. Those few who possess some education alone
make the change without grievously shocking the taste of their European
neighbors.

A few instances of the manner in which “Frank” dress and etiquette are
understood by the majority will give the reader a better idea than any
explanation on the subject.

I was present at an Armenian wedding, when the house was crowded by a
large company composed of both sexes. The ladies, however, had almost
monopolized the drawing-room, which was furnished with long Turkish sofas
running round the walls on three sides, occupied by three rows of ladies.
The first row were seated on the cushions, the second sat cross-legged in
front, and the third contented themselves with the extreme edge, while
some other ladies and a few of the other sex were favored with chairs, or
walked about the room. I had prudently possessed myself of a chair, and
placed it in a position to have a good _coup d’œil_ of the scene, and be
near enough to the sofa to hear and join in the conversation of some of
its occupants. It was by no means an uninteresting sight; there was the
bride, the queen of the fête, seated on a pile of cushions in the corner
reserved for her, surrounded by the triple line of ladies representing
all ages, types, and fashions. The dark and unassuming attire of the
aged pleasingly contrasted with the gay dresses of the young and pretty,
radiant with the glitter of jewelry and the sparkle of many pairs of
bright black eyes that frequently met and questioned each other; a not
unpleasant way of making up for the oriental laconism generally observed
in large assemblies, when conversation is carried on in low tones, and
generally consists only of a passing joke or criticism on the appearance
of others of the company. Some of these remarks I found very amusing; for
instance, a thin, yellow brunette said to her neighbor, “Doudou, do you
notice how stiff and stately Mariemme Hanoum sits in her new polka? Her
husband, Baron Carabet,[23] who has just returned from Constantinople,
has brought her a machine made of whalebone and steel, in which the
Franks cage their wives in order to fill up what is missing and tone
down what is superfluous.” “Chok shay!”[24] exclaimed her companion,
an exceedingly stout lady, casting a hasty glance over her voluminous
person. “I wonder if the like is to be found in the _charshi_ (bazar), so
many articles of dress have lately been brought from Europe by one of the
shopkeepers!”

This conversation was brought to an abrupt termination by the exclamation
of “Ouff! Aman!” from a third lady who was sitting cross-legged, and
evidently in an uncomfortable position. “Ouff! Aman!” she repeated,
stretching out her feet as far as possible, and then proceeded to pull
off her socks, quietly folded them up, and put them in her pocket. She
was an elderly lady, evidently of the old school, for her proceedings
shocked one much younger than herself seated near, and provoked from her
some remark on the impropriety she had committed. The old lady, however,
could not be prevailed upon to see it, and replied very quietly:

“Kesim, what does it matter? all now is ‘à la Franca,’ and we may do as
we please!”

Incidents of European fashions, completely distorted into alarming
caricatures, are still very frequent, and, what is more serious, are
often accompanied by so great an absence of all knowledge of the rules of
good breeding that everything out of the common, however free or strange
it may be, is put down to the “à la Franca,” or European liberty. Only
two years ago, at a ball given by one of my friends, a functionary of
the Porte, Armenian by birth, coolly entered the boudoir, pulled off his
boots, which were, it appears, too tight for him, and seated himself on
a sofa smoking his cigarette. This gentleman was requested by the host
to resume his chaussure and withdraw from the house; and yet civilized
notions had so far penetrated the somewhat dull imagination of this
_Effendi_ as to have induced him to use visiting-cards upon which was
engraved, together with his name, his title of “Membre perpétuel de la
Justice,” surmounted by a gilt pair of scales.

Dress and amusement are thought by many to denote the degree of
refinement and mental development of nations. There is certainly some
truth in this theory, and I have often allowed my opinion of a people and
my belief in its prosperity and progress to be guided in some degree by
their apparently most trivial characteristics.

To seek through these means, however, to arrive at an estimate of the
Turkish character is a somewhat difficult task. The national costume
is disappearing, and is being replaced by a counterfeit or borrowed
attire. With regard to amusement the difficulty becomes still greater,
for all the games that were characteristic of the East, such as that of
the _Djerid_, or throwing the lance on horseback when galloping at full
speed, have fallen into disuse; together with the now forgotten races and
target-practising in which the youth of the two towns used to display
their splendid arms and prove their capacity for manly and warlike
pursuits. The grand hunting parties, in which the grandees and even the
Sultans loved to take part, now only take place occasionally, headed by
some fine old governor-general of the ancient type. In such instances
the chase becomes most enjoyable and delightful. Many years ago, while
residing in a country town, I had several times the pleasure of taking
part in these animated coursing parties organized by the governor of the
town, and headed by him in person. The company would sometimes consist of
twenty cavaliers, with an equal number of mounted attendants leading the
_capon_, or fine greyhounds peculiar to Albania. Proceeding at first in a
compact body across the hills, down on the fertile plains on the borders
of the Maritza, as we neared the open country and descended the slopes,
the cavalcade dispersed, the fiery horses could scarcely be controlled,
and the dogs, trembling with excitement, strove to break from the
leashes. The sportsmen in their variegated costumes, stimulated by their
surroundings, lost their air of lassitude and torpor, and appeared like
the traditional Osmanli of old. The scattered band of cavaliers would
explore the ground until the frightened and startled animals, driven out
of their haunts, would after a few bounds come to a dead stop, and then
flee, pursued by the hounds and followed by the hunters.

There was something so animating in the whole scene that even a timid
woman might have disregarded the danger of fracturing her collar-bone and
willingly taken part in it.

The other excursions, carried on with equal spirit, consist of battues
of large and small game, which take place on the estates of the beys,
who issue invitations to their friends, throw open the gates of their
chiftliks or farms, and receive visitors with every mark of hospitality.
At dawn the whole party assembles at the appointed place, previously
surrounded by the tenants and laborers belonging to the property, who
beat in the game.

These parties, I am assured, are much appreciated by European sportsmen,
who enjoy the wildness of the scenery, as well as the shyness of the
birds, which, unlike their preserved kinsfolk in England, are complete
strangers to contact with man in their unfrequented forests and plains.

An interest is still evinced by all classes in the wrestling matches
which are usually held on the commons outside the towns. On these
occasions the greater part of the population turns out and seats
itself in a closely-packed circle. The combatants, stripped to the
waist, enter the ring, encouraged by the crowd; closely watching each
other’s movements, each awaits a favorable opportunity for seizing his
antagonist, whom, by a dexterous catch, he hopes to throw. No animosity
is displayed by any of the rivals, be they Turks, Christians, or gypsies.
The spectators take a deep interest in these contests, but seldom express
their approbation or disapproval in a very marked manner.

Minstrels still play a prominent part among all classes of the Turkish
population. These are professional artists, well versed in improvisation,
and skilful players on musical instruments, especially the _Kanoun_, a
species of zither, for which a great partiality is displayed. Whatever
their nationality, they are as welcome in the Konaks of the highest
dignitaries as among the crowds that flock on Fridays and other holidays
to some _café_, where, seated in a prominent place, the bard pours forth
his strains or relates his _massal_ (story), which generally turns
upon love, and, though wanting neither in interest nor brilliancy, is
accompanied by unpleasant gesticulation, and is hardly meet either for
the ears or the eyes of the young.

When I was in Albania, the Mushir of Roumelia, with his _corps d’armée_,
passed through the town, and as a mark of civility sent his minstrel to
my house to enliven me with his performance. Oriental music, however,
has not as a rule an enlivening effect upon Europeans. But there is a
pensiveness and a sadness in it that to me have an irresistible charm.

Another amusement is that of the Kara Guez and Hadji Eyvat, a kind of
Punch and Judy. This is a most indecent representation, and the language
that accompanies it is quite in harmony with the scenes; but it greatly
delights the Turkish ladies, for whose diversion it is frequently
introduced into the harems. To this class of recreation may be added the
obscene _Kucheks_, or dancing women and boys; the _Mukkalits_, or clowns,
who amuse the company with their jests; the _Meydan Oyoun_, or comic
plays held in the open air; the performing monkeys and bears, trained by
hardy Pomaks or gypsies, who lead these creatures from town to town, and
force them to display the accomplishments they have learned under the
discipline of the lash.

What a Turk heartily enjoys is his pipe and coffee, sitting by the
side of a running stream or in some spot commanding a fine view. This
quiescent pleasure he calls “taking _Kaif_.” On the whole, his capacity
for enjoyment is rather of a passive than an active kind.

Clubs, reading-rooms, or other resorts for social and intellectual
improvement are quite unknown among the Turks. Their place is, however,
filled to some extent by the old-fashioned _café_ for the Osmanli of
mature age, and by the Casinos and other places of the same doubtful
character for “La jeune Turquie,” who _faute de mieux_ resort thither
to enjoy the delights of taking their _raki_, or sometimes ruining
themselves by indulging in _rouge et noir_ or other games of chance which
they do not understand, and, to do them justice, do not as a rule largely
indulge in.

The amusements of the Rayahs are neither very brilliant nor very varied,
but they are part of a more healthy social life, and serve as a point
of union between the sexes, increasing the joys and pleasures of home
existence, whose monotony they do not often interrupt. The great delight
of these people is the national dances of the Greeks, Bulgarians,
Armenians, and Jews, always gladly indulged in when a chance offers. Such
opportunities are generally weddings and great feast-days, and carnival
time. With the Jews and Armenians it is an insipid formality, and the
similarity of the costume of the women, who alone indulge in it, the want
of variety in the step, and the dull and graceless manner in which it is
performed, deprive it of any claim to be called an amusement. But with
the Greeks and Bulgarians it is quite a different matter; both enter into
it with a zest and animation delightful to witness. The Greeks collect in
a ring to dance the _surto_ of immemorial date. Holding each other by the
hand, and led by the most agile youth and maiden, who hold the corners of
a handkerchief, they perform a variety of measured steps and evolutions,
while the surrounding ring execute a step to the sound of the music that
accompanies the dance. All the movements are graceful, and performed with
precision, at some times becoming more animated, and at others falling
back into a slow measured step. The ring breaks at intervals and allows
those wishing to retire to do so, or receives fresh additions from the
outsiders.

The Bulgarian _hora_ is performed to the sound of the _gaida_, or
bagpipe. The sounds of this instrument act like magic upon these gay and
pleasure-loving people, who no sooner hear its discordant groans than,
forming into a circle and holding each other by the belt, they begin
to stamp and turn round in an earnest and excited manner, appearing
thoroughly absorbed in the performance.

There is a second kind of dance in which the Bulgarians take great
pleasure, that known as the “bear dance.” It is performed by a man
dressed in a bearskin, who presents himself to the company, led by a
pretty girl, who makes him perform all kinds of pranks and buffooneries,
greatly to the enjoyment of the spectators, who occasionally join in the
dance and give chase to the bear. I do not think it is possible to find a
people who can enjoy more heartily the wild music of the _gaida_ than the
Bulgarian, or enter more enthusiastically into the dance than he does.
With the Greeks, dancing is reserved for appointed times and seasons, but
the Bulgarian, be he in the field or resting on the common on a Prasnik
day, will come forward and indulge in it as his greatest delight.

After the dance come the small pleasure parties, for which families
club together and go to spend a few days in some picturesque village
or hospitable monastery, or to some wild watering-place, where they
can enjoy the baths to their hearts’ content. The mineral springs are
encircled by the remains of magnificent old Roman baths, roofless for the
most part, but evidently indestructible so far as the splendid marble
basins that receive the water are concerned.

Every saint seems, by some ubiquitous means, to possess a shrine in
every town, village, or monastery. To these all the people resort on
their anniversaries, attired in their best, to see and to be seen, and
any person, be it man, woman, or child, bearing the name of the saint,
is visited by all its friends and relatives during the day; generally
speaking, a party is given in the evening, where, if instrumental music
and dancing do not form part of the entertainment, a variety of round
games, cards, vocal music, and other similar diversions, are had recourse
to. Divers refreshments, in the form of excellent native wine, fruit,
and cakes, are offered during the evening after the formal handing round
of _glico_ and coffee. These gatherings, often kept up to a late hour,
always conclude peacefully, and cases of disorder and drunkenness are
unheard of, and indeed are of rare occurrence at any time, excepting at a
late hour at the place where a fair is held, when a few _mauvais sujets_
may remain behind in a disorderly frame of mind.

This description refers only to the working classes and tradespeople.
Among the better educated classes music, conversation, theatricals, and
in fact almost everything that belongs to European society is included,
although, as may be supposed, deficiencies as to dress, etiquette, and
other details are to be remarked in the provinces; but a marked desire
for improvement, especially among the Greeks, is everywhere noticeable.
Each community, however, keeps within its own circle, a drawback that
renders the society limited and prevents the sociable feeling that should
prevail among them.




CHAPTER XV.

TURKISH WEDDINGS.

    Early Marriage—Betrothal—Divorce—Love Matches—The
    Trousseau—Wedding Ceremonies—Marital Discipline in
    Macedonia—Monday: Arrangement of Trousseau in Bridegroom’s
    House—Tuesday: Bathing the Bride—Wednesday: Visit of the
    Bridegroom’s Party to Bride’s House—Great Festivities—The
    Kena—Thursday: The Girding of the Bride—The Bridegroom goes to
    the Mosque—Final Amenities of Friendship—Interested Marriages.


The Turks generally marry early, from seventeen for the men, and from
eleven for the girls—who all marry, so that an old maid, like many other
European institutions, is absolutely unknown in Turkey. This custom of
early marriages is encouraged by parents as a check upon their sons
contracting wild habits. It may in this respect have the desired effect,
but must be very injurious in every other. How can a youth of seventeen
or twenty, whose studies, if he by chance has pursued any, are not
finished, whose career in life is yet to begin, assume the weight of a
family without morally and physically suffering for it? Ambition, the
mainspring of a young man’s exertions, damped by the early contraction
of sedentary habits, soon degenerates into listless indifference. The
intellectual faculties, crossed in the pursuit of knowledge by a current
of ideas and responsibilities totally foreign to them, are checked before
they have had their due course; while, physically speaking, harem life,
bad at all the stages of the life of a Turk among the higher orders, must
be incalculably worse when entered upon so early.

The _Nekyah_, or betrothal, comprises the fiançailles as well as the
matrimonial contract. The preliminaries of the engagement are undertaken
by the parents of the contracting parties. The mother or some near
relative of the young man, in company with a few of her friends and the
_Koulavouz_, starts on a tour of inspection, visiting families known
to possess marriageable daughters. The object of the visit being made
known, they are admitted, and the eldest girl presents herself, offers
coffee, kisses hands all round, waits to take the empty cups, and then
disappears, her inspectors having to content themselves with the short
view they have thus had of her. Should this prove satisfactory, they at
once enter into negotiations, make inquiries as to the age and dowry
of the girl, answer counter-inquiries on the condition of the youth,
and say that, if it be agreeable to both parties and it is _Kismet_
that the marriage should take place, they will come again and make the
final arrangements. On the mother’s return home, she gives a faithful
description of the maiden’s appearance to her son, and should this meet
with his approval, the intermediaries are commissioned to settle all
preliminaries.

The dowry is, of course, among Muslims given by the bridegroom; the only
dowry Turkish brides are bound to bring consists in a rich _trousseau_.
Should the lady possess any property the husband cannot assume any
right over it, nor over any of the rest of her belongings. The wisdom
and generosity of this law cannot be too highly commended; it is an
indispensable clause in the canons of polygamy. So easy is it for a Turk
to divorce his wife that he has only to say to her in a moment of anger,
“Cover thy face, thy _nekyah_ is in thy hands,” and she ceases to be his
wife, and must at once leave his abode, carrying with her, luckily for
her, “bag and baggage.”

The privileges of divorce thus indulgently permitted to a man are
entirely beyond the reach of a woman, whom no human power can release
from her _nekyah_ vows without her husband’s free consent. And even
if she gain her husband’s consent to a divorce, she thereby loses her
dowry and _trousseau_, which she would retain if divorced not of her own
motion. This unfair restriction gives rise to many unhappy disputes,
issuing in litigation which ever proves vain and fruitless against the
obstinacy of the husband or, even worse, his helplessness, should he
become insane; for a lunatic’s word of divorce cannot count before the
law.

The following sad history of a bride I knew is a good illustration of the
latter case. The heroine was a fine brunette, the daughter of Yousuf Bey,
a rich and influential personage in the town of B⸺. A _nekyah_ had been
contracted between her and a young man rather queer and strange in his
manners, but very wealthy—a consideration which more than counterbalanced
his failings in the estimation of her avaricious father.

The _Duhun_, or wedding-day, fixed upon, the festivities began according
to the routine of pomp and display usual among the wealthy. As the
wedding-day approached the bridegroom became more and more strange; now
falling into fits of deep melancholy, now into merriment.

His friends, noticing this, suggested that it was _jahilik_, or
childishness, occasioned by the prospect of his approaching happiness,
crossed by the thought that he had no father to participate in it, and
no mother to second him in his duties by welcoming his bride to her
future home.

Be this as it may, the _Duhun_ went on all the same; the bride, decked
in her splendid array, arrived at the bridegroom’s house, and was met,
according to custom, by the bridegroom, who, under the direction of the
_Koulavouz_, was waiting to conduct her to her apartment. The emotion
of the moment was too much for his vacillating mind. He fixed his gaze
for a moment upon his bride with a vacant stare; her face was unknown to
him. The tinsel, the bridal veil, the crowd of _hanoums_ surrounding her,
failed to impress him with the solemnity of the event his mind no longer
comprehended.

In vain the shrill voice of the _Koulavouz_ strove to make him understand
her repeated suggestion that he should conduct his bride upstairs.
Her words, confusedly caught, and mingled with some flickering notion
of what he ought to do, at length urged him to action. He seized the
_Koulavouz_, a frightful old witch, passed her arm through his, and
with the determination and obstinacy of the madman led her upstairs and
placed her in the bridal bower. A miserable scene of confusion ensued.
The poor bride, faint and sick at heart, re-entered her coach and hurried
back to the paternal roof, while the _hanoums_ made a rush towards their
_yashmaks_ and _feridjés_, dismayed at the misfortune and alarmed by the
screams of the old _Koulavouz_, who was making frantic efforts to release
herself from the tight embrace of the maniac. Help from the Selamlik soon
arrived, and the madman was secured.

Seven years have elapsed, the unhappy bride is still pining over her
misfortunes and the loss of the liberty which all efforts have thus far
proved unable to restore to her.

A Turkish husband has the power of divorcing his wife and taking her
back twice; but should he send her away for the third time, she must be
married to another man before she can again return to her first husband.
This strange and disgusting law is meant as a check upon people disposed
to abuse too often the privilege of divorce. The person asked to fulfil
this strange position of intermediary husband must be advanced in years,
generally belongs to the poorer class, and receives a sum of money for
his services. The conditions are that he should enter the abode of the
lady for one night only, with every right over her of a legal husband,
and quit it the next morning, telling her, “Thy liberty is in thy
hands, thou art no longer my wife.” Cases have been known when the old
gentleman, finding his position pleasant, has refused to give the lady
up, and if this should happen the first husband is wholly without remedy,
and must forego his desire of reunion with his former wife.

An incident of the kind happened at Adrianople, affording much merriment
to my Turkish friends. The couple concerned were very fond of each other,
and lived happily together except at times, when the husband, under the
influence of _raki_, would become quarrelsome. The wife, a fine spirited
woman, would retort, and violent disputes followed, ending in alternate
divorce and reconciliation. This happening once too often, the husband,
unable to repossess himself of his spouse, had recourse to an old
_effendi_ who had seen better days, and promised £20 for his services.
The _effendi_, according to custom, went to the bath, dressed himself in
a new suit of clothes, and being presented at the appointed time, the
_nekyah_ ceremony was gone through. The old gentleman walked into the
harem, seated himself upon the lady’s sofa, and began to enjoy, through
the fumes of his nargilé, the sweet vision of his unlooked-for happiness;
while the lady, whose dreams did not exactly harmonize with his, after
offering the acquaintance-cup of coffee, generally shared by the wife on
such an occasion, preferred standing at a respectful distance. The old
effendi, however, would not be balked in the prospect he had formed for
the re-enjoyment of his former happier days. Why should he not prolong
the tenure of the rights thus unexpectedly devolving upon him? Nothing
hindered but his pledged word to renounce them on the following morning.
His conscience easily reconciled to this breach of faith, he decided upon
remaining master of the situation, leaving the poor husband to lament the
loss of his wife and his £20, and quite regardless of the useless burden
he would become to the doubly-injured lady. Such events, however, are not
of frequent occurrence.

It is customary for the bridegroom to furnish the wedding-dress and
sundry other accessories, as well as to promise the _nekyah_ money
settled upon the wife in case of divorce. These, including the _Kaftan_
(outer wedding dress) are sent with great pomp eight days before the
_Duhun_. The Hodja, priest of the parish in which the parents of the girl
reside, is requested to give a declaration that the young lady is free
to contract matrimony. This, taken to the Kadi, obtains the marriage
license, for which a small fee is paid. A piece of red silk and some
sugar-plums are taken by the bridegroom’s mother to the house of the
bride. The red silk, which later on is made into an under-garment, is
spread on this occasion on the floor; upon it the young lady steps to
kiss the hand of her future mother-in-law and receive the gift with her
blessing.

Half of one of these sugar-plums, bitten in two by her pearly teeth, is
taken to the bridegroom as the first love token; literal sweetness in
this case making up for any fault in the sentiment. These preliminaries
are sealed by the formality performed by the Imam in the presence of
witnesses who are called to the door of the Haremlik, behind which the
maiden and her friends stand. The Imam asks the bride if she consents
to accept the youth proposed (giving his name) for her husband. The
question is repeated three times, the bride answering each time in the
affirmative. The Hodja has to declare the amount of the _nekyah_ money
promised, and calls three times upon the bystanders to bear witness
before God to the contract; a short prayer follows, and the ceremony is
concluded. The felicitations are conveyed in the poetical expression
of “May Allah grant harmony between their two stars!” The contract,
religious as well as civil, is made verbally, and though no other
ceremony of importance follows it, the bride and bridegroom do not see
each other till the _Duhun_, or wedding festivities, have been held. The
length of this period may be from a few weeks to a few years, and is a
blank which potential love is at liberty to fill with fantastic pictures
of coming happiness. No sweet messages, letters, or communications of
any kind are allowed during the interval to pave the way towards the
future binding together of two beings whose common lot is cast, without
regard to personal sympathy, into the vague abyss of destiny. Kismet,
the supreme ruler of all Turkish events, is left to decide the degree of
misery or indifference that marriage contracted under such unfavorable
circumstances may bring, instead of the looked-for happiness.

Romance, ending in marriage, however, is not unknown between Turkish
youths and maidens, and the parents seldom refuse their consent in such
cases. Young love, even Turkish love, is sometimes strong enough to break
through the barriers of harem restraint and reach its object in spite
of every obstacle with which the organization of centuries of jealous
guardianship has surrounded Turkish women.

At Adrianople, a young beauty of sixteen suddenly began to pine and
sicken. The color faded from her cheeks, she became thoughtful, sad,
and listless; a low fever set in, greatly alarming the anxious parents,
who were at a loss to divine the cause. As usual, all the learned Hodjas
were resorted to, but their _Muskas_, prayers, and blessings failed
to revive the sinking health and spirits of the maiden. One day I
happened to visit this family; the girl was seated at the corner window,
overlooking the street, dreamily gazing out from behind the lattice. Her
little brother was playing by her side, while the mother was describing
to me the symptoms of her daughter’s indisposition. The little fellow
suddenly jumped up, saying, “_Ishdé_ Ali Bey. I want to go to him!” His
sister started up, her cheeks suffused with blushes, and left the room in
confusion. Both the mother and I noticed the incident, though no remark
was made about it at the time by either of us; but I was at no loss then
to understand the reason of the girl’s failing health and depression of
spirits. A short time after I heard of her engagement to this young man,
whom it appears she had loved as a child. This love later on becoming
a hidden passion was shared by the youth and stealthily interpreted
between them by the language of flowers, fruits, and scents, the mediums
generally resorted to by Turks in such cases. The lover, handsome and
intelligent, was a mere _Kyatib_, who deemed his limited means an
obstacle to his aspiring to the hand of one of the wealthiest young
hanoums of the town. I was present at the marriage festivities of this
lovely creature, and saw her a year later a blooming wife and mother.

The trousseau comprises bedding, sometimes to the amount of fifty sets,
each composed of two mattresses, two quilted coverlets, and three cotton
bolsters; kitchen utensils, all of copper, very numerous, consisting of
two or three immense cauldrons, several large jugs and pans, and a great
number of dinner-trays, with the services belonging to them; among the
wealthy one of these would be of silver. It also comprises furniture
for two rooms of some rich material embroidered with gold, a handsome
_mangal_ (brazier), curtains, and a few carpets and rugs, besides the
house linen. The wardrobe contains several expensive fur jackets, a shawl
or two, some _feridjés_, and a number of suits of apparel, consisting
of under-gowns and jackets. The _gelinlik_, or wedding-dress, ranging
in value from sixty to hundreds of pounds, is embroidered with gold and
pearls. The rest are less rich in material, and are of silk and woollen
stuffs, and less expensive materials down to print _gedjliks_. The other
articles are chemises, a few pairs of stockings, boots, and slippers,
some dozens of worked handkerchiefs, head-ties, and _yashmaks_, together
with a number of European odds and ends, such as petticoats, gloves, and
parasols.

The _Duhun_, like the circumcision ceremony, lasts a whole week,
occasioning great expense to the parents, who, however, cannot possibly
avoid it, and often incur debts for its celebration that hang heavily
upon them through life.

The customs connected with weddings differ according to the district
in which they take place. In Macedonia I was highly amused to see the
manner in which the bride was introduced into her new home. As soon as
her feet had crossed the threshold, a halter was thrown round her neck
and she was dragged in by her husband, to teach her an early lesson of
gentle four-footed obedience; on passing the first hearth-stone her head
was brought into violent contact with the wall, as a warning of the
chastisement she may expect in case of misconduct.

Her face is a mask of gold-dust and gum worked on the cheeks, forehead,
and chin with spangles. The eyebrows are thickly painted and meet over
the nose, and the teeth are blackened. This hideous disguisement is worn
till evening, when the bridegroom, on his first visit to the bride, pours
out the water with which she washes it away in order to give the nuptial
kiss.

The wedding festivities begin on the Monday. A number of friends and
relatives collect at the home of the bride to superintend the final
arrangement and expedition of the trousseau to the bridegroom’s house.
This luggage is carried by _Hammals_, who, on arrival at the house, are
entitled beside their fee to a _chevré_, or marked handkerchief offered
by the mother. They are preceded on their march by the _Koulavouz_, who
delivers their burdens into the charge of the mother-in-law or some
responsible person. Shortly afterwards, the bride’s party follows, who
after partaking of coffee and bonbons are shown by the _hanoum_ into the
apartments destined for the occupation of the bride.

It is customary for Turkish youths who have homes to take their wives
to them on marrying. Should the Konak be too small to accommodate all
the married sons, extra wings are added to it. The guests, left to
themselves, at once set to work to decorate the bridal chamber, some
stretching strings along the walls on which to hang the larger articles
of dress, such as furred and embroidered jackets, _feridjés_, cloaks,
and _intaris_, all of bright colors, and richly worked and trimmed. The
shawls, prayer carpet, and bridal _boghcha_, all objects of value, occupy
the centre of these rows, which are successively surmounted by others,
consisting of the linen, kerchiefs, towels, head scarves, and other
adjuncts of the toilet, all arranged with great taste. Along the top of
the walls runs a garland of crape flowers. The bride’s corner is richly
decorated with these and other artificial flowers, arranged in the form
of a bower. This promiscuous exhibition of silk gauze and various stuffs,
intermingled with embroidery in variegated silks, gold, and silver,
is most striking in effect, and forms, with the bridal bower, a sight
peculiarly Oriental and gorgeous. The alcove is reserved for the display
of jewels and other precious objects placed under glass shades.

When this adornment (which takes up the whole night) is completed,
the party goes to the next room and arranges the furniture sent for
it, thence proceeding to the hall and unpacking the bedding, which,
placed against the walls upon the empty cases, forms a huge mass of
colored strata of silk, embroidery, and bright cotton print. One or two
little stools of walnut wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, support the
candelabra, and the _hochaf_ tray with its prettily cut crystal bowl and
ivory spoons would be placed in front, together with the brooms, dustpan
of walnut wood inlaid with silver, both patterns of the same materials,
and the kitchen utensils, _mangals_, and all other belongings of the
bride.

On Tuesday the bride is taken to the bath with great ceremony, the
expenses on this occasion being defrayed by the bridegroom. Before
leaving the bath the bride is led three times round the centre platform,
kisses hands all round, and goes out to be dressed. The clothes she wears
on this occasion must not belong to her.

On Wednesday, the bridegroom’s party of lady friends go in a body to
the home of the bride, preceded by the _Koulavouz_, who announces their
arrival with an air of great importance. Violent confusion ensues; the
mother, followed by her friends, descends the staircase. They form a
double row, each couple conducting a visitor between them, beginning
with the bridegroom’s mother, and proceed upstairs into apartments
specially reserved for the friends of the bridegroom, who do not mix with
the bride’s party on this occasion. When their veils and cloaks have
been removed they seat themselves round the room and partake of bitter
coffee and cigarettes, followed half an hour later by sweet coffee. The
bride is led into the room by two hanoums who have only been married
once, and kisses the hands of all present, beginning with her future
mother-in-law, and terminating with the youngest child in the room. She
is then seated on a chair near her _Kayn Validé_, who is allowed on this
occasion to take her by her side for a few minutes only, during which
masticated sugar is exchanged between them as a token of future harmony.
The bride is then taken away, excused by some insipid remarks on the
expiring rights of maternal possession over her.

The dancing girls and musicians are now called in and perform before the
company, receiving money from each person as they leave the room in order
to entertain the other party of guests. When the bridegroom’s friends
are about to leave they throw small coins over the head of the bride,
who is led down to the door for the purpose. The scramble that ensues
among the hawkers of sweets, fruits, etc., assembled in the court, the
children, the beggars, and innumerable parasites crowding houses during
the celebration of a wedding, is beyond description.

Before departure an invitation is given for the evening to take part in
the _Kena_, an entertainment more especially designed for the bride and
her maiden friends. When the company is assembled, tapers are handed to
each, and a procession formed, headed by the bride, and accompanied by
the dancing girls and music. They descend the staircase into the garden,
and wind among the flower-beds and groves of trees. The lights, the gay
dresses, flashing jewels, and floating hair of the girls, the bright
castanets, and the wild songs and weird music of the accompanyists,
combine to form a glimpse of fairy-land, or a dream of “The Thousand and
One Nights.”

The ceremony of the _Kena_ consists in the application of the henna
mixture, which is prepared towards morning. The bride, after being
divested of her wedding finery, enters the presence of her mother-in-law,
shading her eyes with her left arm, while she seats herself in the middle
of the room. A silk bath scarf is thrown over her outstretched right
hand, and is then thickly plastered over with the henna, upon which her
mother-in-law sticks a gold coin, her example being followed by the rest
of her company. This hand placed in a silk bag relieves the other in
covering her eyes, and the left hand is in its turn extended and gifted
in like manner by the bride’s mother and _her_ friends; the feet are
also stained with the henna. This is followed by the last dance, called
the _Sakusum_, performed by the _Chingis_, accompanied by a song and
gestures of the most unrestrained and immodest nature, terminating in
these dancers taking extraordinary positions before each guest, sometimes
even sitting on their knees to receive their reward, which consists of a
small gold coin, damped in the mouth, and deposited on their unblushing
foreheads. In these proceedings, the modesty and innocence of the young
girls present is never thought about.

The bride reposes long enough for the henna to impart its crimson dye,
but not to turn black, which would be considered a bad augury.

The only touching scene in the whole course of the wedding ceremonies,
the girding of the bride by her father, takes place in the presence of
her mother and sisters just before she leaves the home of her childhood.
The father enters the room appearing deeply affected, and sometimes even
joining his tears to the weeping of his wife and daughters. The bride,
also weeping, falls at his feet, kisses them, and kisses his hands, while
he presses her to his breast and girds her with the bridal girdle, giving
at the same time some good advice and his blessing.

In some district towns the bridegroom’s male friends arrive at dawn with
torches to take away the bride. She is not, however, seen by her husband
until evening, when he is taken to the mosque, and accompanied to the
door of his dwelling by the Imam. A short prayer is offered, the company
joining in the refrain of _Amin, Amin_, at the conclusion of which the
happy man is pushed into the house, a shower of blows falling on his
back; they then partake of sherbet standing, and disperse. The bridegroom
proceeding upstairs comes upon a bowl of water, which he upsets with his
foot, scattering the contents in all directions. The Koulavouz meets
and conducts him to the nuptial apartment, where the bride, shy and
trembling, awaits the introduction of the complete stranger, in whose
hands her destiny for good or for evil is now placed.

She rises as he enters and kisses his hand; her bridal veil removed by
the Koulavouz is spread on the floor and knelt on by the bridegroom,
who offers a solemn prayer, the bride all the time standing on its edge
behind him. The couple then sit side by side; the old lady approaching
their heads together while she shows them the reflection of their united
images in a mirror, and expresses her wishes for the continuation of
their present harmonious union.

Masticated sugar is exchanged between them as a token of the sweetness
that must henceforth flow from their lips. Coffee follows, after which
the Koulavouz retires till her services are again required for bringing
in the supper, which consists of sweets and eggs, meat being excluded on
the ground that to indulge in it on so solemn an occasion would lead to
future bickerings between them.

The supper hour depends upon the shyness, obstinacy, or good-will of the
bride, over whom her husband can have no control until he has succeeded
in making her respond to his questions. Brides are recommended by
experienced matrons to remain mute as long as possible, and the husband
is sometimes obliged to resort to a stratagem in order to accomplish
this. The anxiously looked-for speech is at once echoed by the relieved
husband by a knock on the wall, which is the signal for supper. This
partaken of, the bride is divested of her finery and the paint and
flowers washed off by the Koulavouz, and left to repose after the fatigue
and excitement of five successive days of festivity, still to be extended
for two days longer. On the morrow she is again decked in her wedding
apparel to receive the crowd of hanoums, invited and uninvited, that
flock to the house to gaze upon her.

I have said nothing about the bakhshish, or presents, for the reason
that the givers and receivers are legion; nor of the kind of amusement
resorted to during these days, since they consist principally in
feasting, drinking sherbet, smoking, and chatting, enlivened only by the
monotonous music and the spectacle of dancing girls. This part of the
entertainment is so disgusting to behold, and so repulsive to describe,
that the less I say about them the better; their immodesty can only be
matched by the obscene conversations held by the numerous parasites
specially introduced for the amusement of the company.

Entertainments of a similar nature take place at the same time in the
Selamliks of both houses.

At Constantinople the bride is taken on the Thursday morning from the
paternal roof, and conveyed in a carriage to her new home, followed by a
train of other carriages, preceded by music and surrounded by buffoons,
performing absurd mummeries for the amusement of the party, besides a
numerous company of unruly youths, some mounted and others on foot, most
of whom get intoxicated and noisy on the occasion. The bride is received
by her husband at the door; he offers his arm and conducts her upstairs
through the crowd of _hanoums_, who are not very careful about hiding
their faces, on the plea that the bridegroom being otherwise occupied
will not look at them. He leads his wife to the bower prepared for her,
but before taking her seat a scuffle ensues between them for precedence,
each trying to step upon the foot of the other, the successful person
being supposed to acquire the right of future supremacy.

A Turkish wedding, as shown by this description, in its frivolous forms
and the absence of the sanctity of a religious ordinance, fails to
impress one with the solemnity of the Christian rite. The whole ceremony
contains many ridiculous superstitions and much that is worse than absurd.

Polygamy was no invention of Mohammed’s: he found it already firmly
rooted in Arabia. To abolish it was an idea that could never have entered
his mind. We must only be grateful to him for having to some extent
set bounds to its evils. But those bounds are thoroughly inadequate.
Four wives and perfect facility of divorce are bad enough, without
reckoning the permission to keep as many concubines as a man pleases.
But the wretched necessities of polygamy and divorce are wrapped up
with the harem system. The latter absolutely demands the former; and
though cases of true love do exist in Turkey where a man resigns the
so-called pleasures of polygamy and of possessing odalisks; yet it may be
confidently asserted that until the harem system, and with it polygamy,
are finally abolished, the condition of Mohammedan women can never be
anything but degraded.

Interested marriages are often contracted by young Turks, to whom
ambition or gratitude recommends as partners some faded court beauties
called _Serailis_, or the ugly and deformed daughter of the patron
to whom they owe their position and upon whom they depend for future
promotion. The number of vizirs and pashas that have attained such high
rank solely through the interest and influence of their wives is very
great; a fact which, if better known by Europeans, would disabuse them of
the idea that a Turkish wife of every rank is the slave of her husband. I
have seen innumerable cases denoting the reverse. The fraternity of meek,
submissive, and hen-pecked husbands is, I suppose, like the gypsies,
to be found all over the world. Sultan Abdul-Medjid, on being informed
that his favorite wife had concealed one of her lovers in a cupboard,
had a scene with her, during which he received a sound box on the ear.
At last the tyranny of this much-loved beauty passed all endurance, and
the Sultan decided upon putting her away and sending her into exile.
His Grand Vizir Reshid Pasha, was charged with the task of visiting the
Sultana and enforcing upon her the Imperial order. She received him,
heard her fate unmoved, and, still confident in the supreme power she
possessed over her lord and master, quietly collared his Grand Vizir and
walked him out of the room.

O⸺ Pasha, in his young days, contracted a marriage of this kind with the
daughter of an influential minister. She was humpbacked, with a face so
distorted as to render a disinterested marriage hopeless. I made her
acquaintance at Uskup, as she passed through on her way to the interior
of Albania, where her husband had been appointed Governor-General. She
told me that she had made a great sacrifice in leaving her beautiful
_Yahli_ on the Bosphorus and undertaking a journey the perils and
hardships of which were nearly killing her, but that she thought it
her duty to be near her husband lest he, yielding to the temptation
occasioned by the absence of her surveillance, should form new ties that
might rob her of her rights. “Do you Franks,” she asked, “trust your
husbands out of your sight?”

A week after her departure, another fussy arrival of harems put Uskup
into commotion. On my inquiring whose they were, I was told that they
were the beautiful Circassian Odalisks of O⸺ Pasha, who were following
the steps of his wife, entirely unknown to her. On arriving at their
destination I learnt that they had been carefully smuggled by their
owner into a house which he visited under the pretext of the long
_teptil_, or night watches, he had to make in the town in order to see
that all was right among his unruly Arnaouts. It is true the story
cuts two ways: it not only shows that the husband dared not be openly
unfaithful to his wife, but also that her suspicious surveillance was
entirely ineffectual.




CHAPTER XVI.

CHRISTIAN WEDDINGS—GREEK, BULGARIAN, AND ARMENIAN.

    _Greek Weddings._—The _Arravón_—Dowry—The Bridegroom’s Call
    of Ceremony—The Wedding Festivities—Monday: the Sifting of
    the Grain—Wednesday: the Making of the Wedding Cakes—Friday:
    Bridal Presents—Saturday: Invitations; Dressing of the Bride’s
    Hair and Shaving of the Bridegroom—Sunday: the Wedding;
    Kissing of the Bridegroom—The Second _Arravón_—Duties of Best
    Man—At the Church—Ceremonies on re-entering the House—The
    final Dance—Monday: Feeding of the Bride—Offering at the
    Well—Separation and Divorce among the Greeks.

    _Bulgarian Weddings._—Betrothal—Never Broken—Preparatory
    Ceremonies—The Wedding—Procession to the Cellar—Christian
    Marriage Service mixed with Dionysian Rites—Offering to
    the Water Deities—Punishment of Unchastity—Turkish Raids
    upon Brides—Bulgarian Trousseau—Marriage among the Wealthy
    Bulgarians of the Towns—Ladies from Abroad.

    _Armenian Weddings._—The Offer—Wedding Ceremonies—Friday:
    the Bath—Saturday: the Maidens’ Feast—Sunday: Feast of
    Young Men and Girls—Caging of the Bride—The Bridegroom’s
    Toilette—The Barber—Procession to the Bride—“Half-Service”—To
    the Church—Multiple Marriage—Rite—Return to the House—Scramble
    for Stockings—The Virgin Guard—Wednesday: Conclusion of
    Marriage—Etiquette of Conversation.


Greek weddings vary in form and custom according to the country in which
they are celebrated and to the degree of modification ancient customs
have experienced under the influence of modern ideas. One of the most
interesting forms is that practised at Vodena (Edessa, the ancient
capital of Macedonia), as comprising in its forms many of the customs and
usages of the ancient Greeks. The preliminary ceremony is the ἀρραβών, or
troth, which, though it is not a religious rite, is considered binding,
and cannot lightly be set aside. An incident that happened at Broussa
will show how strong is the bond of this mere verbal engagement. A
young Greek girl, who had been talked about in the town, was portioned
by her influential protector, and engaged to a young peasant who was
unacquainted with her and ignorant of her antecedents and was induced to
pledge his word to marry her. All had been prepared for the ceremony.
The young man was hurried to church, where he and his friends became
acquainted with the bride. Her appearance did not satisfy the bridegroom,
and he refused to fulfil his promise. The officiating priest insisted
on the completion of the ceremony, in right of the bridegroom’s pledged
word. A scuffle ensued, and the active peasant, helped by his friends,
effected his escape from the church, leaving his _fez_ in the hands of
one of his antagonists; and, later on, obtained his release by legal
proceedings.

Contrary to European custom, the young men are sought in marriage by the
parents of the girl, or through the intermediary, in imitation of their
ancestors, who employed such persons in this service.

The usual age for the men is twenty-five, and for the girls eighteen. The
dowry is settled in the presence of witnesses, who bear testimony to the
right of inheritance of the children, and the _arravón_ is considered
concluded when the bridegroom declares himself satisfied with the amount
of the promised dowry. This belongs unconditionally to the husband,
except in case of divorce, when it is returned, in accordance with a law
identical with that of the ancient Athenians. The modern Greeks appear to
attach as much importance to the dowry as the ancient, although it is no
longer meant to denote the difference between the γυνή and the παλλακή,
which was marked by the wife bringing a dowry whilst the concubine
brought none.

The _trousseau_ is being prepared long before it is required by the
careful parents, who by degrees buy all the materials for it, the girl
herself having no other concern than to give her help towards making up
the various articles of dress.

No Greek of the present day would refuse to co-operate with his father
in portioning his sisters. He will renounce to himself the privilege of
taking a wife while any of his sisters remain unmarried.

As soon as the engagement is made public, the συνδεδεμένος, in company
with his relatives and friends, pays his respects to the house of his
future wife, who presents herself in an extremely bashful attitude, her
eyes cast down, her hands crossed on her breast, and her mien on the
whole that of one who tries to conceal pride and joy under a stiff and
conceited exterior.[25] Receiving the felicitations of those present,
she bows three times, and then retires. Gilt βασιλικός (basil) is
offered as a memento of the event, a relic of the ancients, who used
herbs and flowers in connection with the affairs of marriage. As the
company retire, the ἀρραβωνιαστική (bride), standing at the head of
the staircase, kisses the hands of her future husband and his friends,
receiving in return gifts of gold coins. This custom of kissing hands on
the part of the woman is a humiliating, but in the East a common, mark of
submission, which our western ideas have happily reversed.

It is customary for the bridegroom to send occasional presents to the
bride in the interval—of varying length—between the betrothal and the
wedding. The document containing the conditions of the ἀρραβών is
delivered to the bridegroom on the Sunday previous to the wedding, and
its receipt is acknowledged by a present of bonbons, henna, hair-dye,
rouge, and soap, together with a double flask containing wine.

On Monday, the bride and her maiden friends collect, and, as in olden
time, sift the grain, which, on its return from the mill, will be
converted by them into bridal cakes. Very bright are the faces and very
merry the voices of these young maidens thus busily employed; the room
resounds with their gay laughter and joyous songs. On Wednesday the gay
company again assembles, increased in number by friends and relatives,
who arrive in the evening to assist in kneading the dough. The trough is
brought in and filled with a snowy pile of flour, which the Macedonian
maidens delight in converting into savory cakes that none could disdain
to partake of; and, especially on this occasion, they do their utmost
to make them worthy emblems of what their ancestors intended them to
represent. The trough is occupied at one end by a saddle mounted by a
boy girded with a sword; on the other by a girl, whose tiny hands must
be the first to mix the dough and lose in it the ring and coins. These
children must be bright and happy, their lives unclouded by the death
of even a distant relation. This custom, having survived the march of
centuries, is left as an inheritance to the Macedonians, pointing out to
the γαμβρός (bridegroom) the duties of the husband, the care and defence
of his home,—together with his out-door labors,—while it signifies to
the Macedonian maiden that she cannot begin too early to attend to her
household affairs. The kneading is continued by more experienced hands,
and the dough left till the morrow, when it is divided into portions and
handed round to the company, who all hopefully look for the hidden ring,
for which the lucky finder receives a present when returning it to the
bridegroom. The paste, re-collected, is mixed with the rest of the dough,
from which the _propkasto_ (wedding cake) and a variety of other cakes
are made. On Thursday the _propkasto_ is placed over a bowl of water,
round which, after the merry mid-day meal, the happy youths and maidens
dance three times, singing a song suited to the occasion. The cake is
then taken up, broken in pieces, and, together with figs and other
fruits, thrown over the heads of the couple; the children, scrambling for
these, are covered with a blanket, another surviving custom of ancient
Greece, figs and cakes denoting plenty, rendered doubly significant by
the scrambling children covered with the blanket, emblematic of the
future fruitfulness of the union itself.

Friday is reserved for the interchange of presents between the bride
and bridegroom, each awaiting with loving curiosity the expected gift
of the other; the right of the first surprise belongs to the bride,
whose beating heart responds to the distant sounds of music that herald
the approach of the bearers, who, on arrival, after having been thanked
and refreshed, are intrusted with the presents destined by her for her
betrothed.

On Saturday, invitations are issued, a formality extended to the bride
and bridegroom who invite one another, enlivened, as regards the
_Koumbáros_ and _Koumbára_,[26] with bands of music, which, accompanying
the invitation, lead these distinguished visitors back to partake of the
festivities of the day.

In the evening the young girls for the last time rally round their
comrade, who, on the next day, is to leave their ranks; and, amid songs,
tears, and vows of unalterable friendship, the bride abandons her
youthful locks, dyed black, into the hands of her friends, who dress it
in a number of plaits in readiness for the next day. The bridegroom on
his part, accompanied by his friends and cheered by the sounds of lively
music, submits to the operation of shaving; during which operation an ode
to the razor is sung.

Sunday, looked upon as the most propitious day, is fixed for the
celebration of the nuptials; relatives and friends collect at the abode
of the bridegroom, kiss the happy man, offering him felicitations and
presents, and conduct him to the home of the bride, preceded by the
mother, who, on leaving the house, empties a jar of water at the gate,
and places on the ground a belt, over which her son steps. The procession
stops on its way to take the _koumbáros_ and the _koumbára_. On arriving
at their destination, the formality of exchanging the documents
containing the marriage contracts is gone through; these are presented
by the priest to the respective parties, the dowry in cash is delivered
and sent to the bridegroom’s home. The second ἀρραβών then takes place in
the following manner, and in accordance with the customs of the ancient
Greeks. The bride’s father, or nearest of kin, presents himself to the
father, or nearest of kin, of the bridegroom, and offers him in a plate
some basil, saying, “Accept the engagement of my daughter to your son,”
repeating his request three times; this ceremony is repeated on the
bridegroom’s side, and followed by the presentation of a glass of wine,
a ring-shaped cake, and a spoon to the bridegroom, who partakes of the
wine, and drops money into the glass, in acknowledgment to the bride of
this attention; he keeps half the cake, giving the other half and the
spoon into the charge of the best man, who feeds the bride with it next
morning. This messenger is followed by another, who comes to gird the
bridegroom, lifting him up at the same time, which latter task is made as
difficult as possible by the person operated upon, in order to gain more
consideration. More kisses are now showered upon him by the relatives of
the bride, after which he is left in peace for a time; while the bride,
in another room, has her own trials to go through, those trials of the
heart which belong to the supreme moment when the maiden is about to tear
herself away from the thousand dear associations of home, to bid farewell
to mother and brother and sister, and then to enter upon new duties, new
ties and affections.

Like all things, this soon comes to an end; it is the best man’s duty
to conclude it, in a strictly unsentimental manner, by putting on the
bride’s boots, a gift from her future husband. The bride, veiled, is led
to the church, followed by the rest of the company; bonbons are thrown
over her head and water spilt, this time by her mother, on her march as
she passes the gate. The clear rhythm of a triumphal march, accompanied
by a bridal chorus, rules the slow steps of the procession. At length
it reaches the church; but before entering it, the bridegroom’s mother
asks the maiden three times, “Bride, hast thou the shoes?” The couple
then enter the church, holding richly-decorated tapers, and proceed to
the altar, where they stand side by side, the bride on the left of the
bridegroom. The priest, after reading part of the ritual, makes the
sign of the cross three times with the rings over the heads of their
respective owners, and places them on their hands, saying, Ἀρραβωνίζετε
ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ θεοῦ (giving the name of the man), τὴν δούλην τοῦ θεοῦ (the
name of the woman), in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
three times; leaving to the _koumbáros_ the duty of exchanging them.
This terminates the third ἀρραβών, and the marriage service begins by
the priest taking the wedding wreaths, placing them on the heads of the
bride and the bridegroom, saying, Στέφετε ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ θεοὑ (giving the
name of the bridegroom), τὴν δούλην τοῦ θεοῦ (the name of the woman),
in the name of the Father, etc., exchanging them three times. A glass
of wine, consecrated by the priest, is offered first to the bridegroom,
then to the bride, and finally to the _koumbáros_ standing behind the
couple holding the wreaths. The priest then joins their hands, and leads
them three times round the altar; the _koumbáros_ follows. The priest
then removes the bridegroom’s crown, saying, Μεγαλύνθητι Νυμφίε ὡς ὁ
Ἀβραὰμ καὶ εὐλογήθητι ὡς ὁ Ἰσαὰκ καὶ πληθύνθητι ὡς ὁ Ἰακώβ, and that of
the bride, saying, Καὶ σὺ, νύμφη, μεγλιζε ὡς ἡ Σαῤῥὰ καὶ εὐφράνθητι ὠς ἡ
Ῥεβεχὰ, κ. τ. λ.

The ceremony concluded, the _koumbáros_ followed by the relations,
kisses the bride and bridegroom, while the friends in offering their
congratulations kiss the bridegroom and the wreath of the bride. On
returning, the bride’s mother welcomes the couple by placing two loaves
on their heads, while a fresh shower of comfits is being thrown over
them. They are finally conducted to the nuptial chamber, and not spared
the ordeal of sweetmeat-eating. The quince of the ancients is replaced by
sugar-plums.

The manner in which this is given and taken is curious. The couple bend
on one knee, placing a few sugar-plums on the other, which each strives
to pick up with the lips, the most expeditious having the right first
to resume liberty of posture. I have not been able to ascertain if this
particular custom is meant to predict supreme power to the lord and
master in case of success, or his subjection to petticoat government in
case of failure.

Towards evening, the bride, led by her father-in-law, or husband’s
nearest of kin, proceeds to the common outside the town or village,
and opens a round dance, called the _surto_. This dance consists of a
quick step, accompanied by music and chanting; after its performance the
company disperse, the nearest relations leading the couple home.

On Monday morning the sleepers are wakened by songs, and the _koumbáros_,
invited to partake of the frugal morning meal, feeds the bride with the
remaining half of the cake, and offers her the spoon with which she eats
the first mouthful of food that day.

Breakfast over, the bride is the first to leave the table, and goes to
the well accompanied by her friends, round which she walks three times,
dropping an _obol_ into it from her lips, a sacred attention of the
ancients to the water deities, and still in vogue among the moderns. On
returning home, the bride, desirous of making her husband share in the
benefits of her dedication, pours some water over his hands, offering at
the same time the towel on which to dry them, and receiving in return a
present from him.

The rejoicings continue throughout the day, the bride’s father, or
nearest of kin, having this time the right of opening the dance with her.

On the following Friday evening, the young matron proudly returns in
company with her husband, to the paternal roof, under which they remain
till Saturday night.

Five days afterwards the bride again returns to visit her mother, taking
with her a bottle of _raki_, which she exchanges, taking a fresh supply
back with her. The Saturday following, a great feast is given by the
bride’s father, inviting all the relatives to a cordial but sober meal.
In the evening the bride is accompanied home by the party, when she is
left in peace to enter upon the duties of her new home.

The modern Greeks fully deserve the praise they receive for the virtues
that distinguish their family life, the harmony of which is seldom
disturbed by the troubles and dissensions caused by illegal connections,
acts of cruelty, or other disorders. Incompatibility of feeling in
unhappy unions is wisely settled by separation. In more serious cases a
divorce is appealed for to the bishop of the diocese, who submits it to
the council of the _demogerontia_, which, according to the merits of the
case, gives a decision, or refers it to the Patriarch at Constantinople.
Thus the scandal of an open court of law is avoided, and the offspring,
innocent of all participation in the crime (should there be any) are not
made to suffer from its unjust stigma.


MARRIAGE AMONG THE BULGARIANS.

Fourteen years spent among Bulgarians afforded me the opportunity of
witnessing many marriage ceremonies, which were very peculiar and
interesting. Especially curious are those of Upper Macedonia, as
presenting remarkable traces of Dionysian worship.

The matrimonial negotiations are carried on by the _stroinichitsita_ and
_stroinitcote_, persons commissioned by the parents to find a suitable
_parti_ for their marriageable daughters; the proposal, among the
peasants, being addressed by the man to the parents of the girl, who
accept it on the promise of a sum of money, ranging from £50 to £300,
according to his means. The sum is offered as purchase-money for the
labor of the hardy maiden, whose substantial assistance in field and
other work to the _paterfamilias_ ceases on the marriage day, when her
services pass to her husband.

Wednesday or Thursday evenings are considered most propitious for the
betrothal, which takes place in the presence of witnesses, and consists
in the exchange of marriage contracts, certifying on one side the
promised sum of money, and on the other stating the quantity and quality
of the _trousseau_ the bride will bring. The interchange of contracts is
followed by that of rings between the affianced, offered to them by the
priest who asks each person if the proposal of the other is accepted. A
short blessing follows, and this simple betrothal is concluded by the
bride kissing the hands of her affianced husband and of the rest of the
company.

These engagements, never known to be broken, are often prolonged for
years by selfish parents, who are unwilling to part with the services
of a daughter who is valued as an efficient laborer. This unjust delay
gives rise to clandestine associations, tolerated, but not acknowledged,
by the parents, and finally ending in matrimony. Runaway marriages are
also of frequent occurrence in cases when there is difficulty about the
payment of the portion. The young couple elope on an appointed day, and
ride to the nearest church, where they are at once united. On returning
home the bride usually hides herself in the house of some relative, until
friends intervening obtain her father’s forgiveness.

The principles of good faith and honor are sacredly kept among these
simple people, who are never known to break their pledged word under any
circumstances.

How curious would an English girl think the preliminary customs that
a virgin in this fine, but now neglected, country must observe before
entering upon the state of holy matrimony. And yet, rude and primitive
as these customs are, they well deserve our attention as having once
belonged, in part at least, to a wonderful civilization, now lost, but
never to be forgotten.

Preparing the house for the coming festivity, washing with ceremony
the bride’s head, exhibiting the _trousseau_ for the inspection of the
matrons, who do not spare their criticism on its merits or demerits,
while the young and thoughtless are busy putting a last stitch here and
there amid gay songs and cheerful talk; the ornamentation of cakes sent
round to friends and relatives in lieu of invitation cards,—all these are
old customs which ring in unison with the peaceful and industrious habits
of a people whose life in happier times reminded one of the Arcadias of
the poets.

Nor is the marriage ceremony itself void of interest. I was present at
one of these while staying at a large Bulgarian settlement in Upper
Macedonia. The village, buried in a picturesque glen, looked bright
and cheery. Its pretty white church and neat school-house stood in the
midst; around were the farm-houses and cottages, roofed with stone slabs,
standing in large farmyards, where the golden hay and corn-stacks, the
green trees, and small flower-beds disputed the ground with a roving
company of children, pigs, and fowls.

The wedding took place in the house of a rich Chorbadji, who was giving
his daughter in marriage to a young Bulgarian from a village on the
opposite side of the glen. The festivities began on a Monday and lasted
through the week, each day bringing its duties and pleasures, its
songs, music, and dancing,—indispensable parts of a Bulgarian peasant’s
existence.

On the eve of the wedding-day the virgin meal took place, each maiden
arriving with her offering of sweets in her hands. It was a pretty sight
to look at all those bright young faces, for the time free from care and
lighted up with smiles of content and joy. It takes so little to amuse
innocent peasant girls, for whom a day of rest is a boon in itself, well
appreciated and generally turned to good account.

On Sunday, in the early forenoon, the company once more assembled. The
children, washed and dressed, played about the yard, filling the air with
their joyous voices. The matrons led their daughters in their bright
costumes, covered with silver ornaments, their heads and waists garlanded
with flowers. The young men also, decked out in their best, and equally
decorated with flowers, stood to see them pass by, and to exchange
significant smiles and looks.

On entering the house, I was politely offered a seat in the room where
the bride, in her wedding dress, a tight mantelet closely studded with
silver coins, and hung about with strings of coins intertwined with
flowers, sat awaiting the arrival of the bridegroom’s company, who were
to lead her to her new home. The sound of distant music soon announced
their approach, and was the signal for the touching scene of _adieux_.
All the bride’s smiles died away, and tears stood in every eye. Kissing
hands all round, and being kissed in return, she was led by her father
to the gate, and mounted upon a horse that awaited her; the rest of
the company followed her, all mounted also. The scene changed, and as
we rode along the mountain paths I felt myself transported into the
mythological age in the midst of a company of Thyiades, garlanded with
flowers and vine-leaves, proceeding to the celebration of their festival.
The procession, headed by a standard-bearer carrying a banner surmounted
by an apple, and followed by a band of music, wended its way along the
mountain paths. The wild strains of the minstrels were echoed by the
shouts and songs of the company, excitedly careering among the flowery
intricacies of the mountain passes, like a wild chorus of Bacchantes. On
entering the village, the procession was completed by the addition of the
_Nunco_ (best man) with the _Stardever_, who, like the Kanephoroi in the
Dionysia, carried baskets of fruit, cakes, the bridal crowns, and the
flasks of wine, and led the sacrificial goat with its gilded horns, all
gifts of the _Nunco_.

On arriving at the gate of the bridegroom’s house, the standard-bearer
marched in and planted his banner in the middle of the court. The bride,
following, stayed her horse before it, and, after a verse had been sung
by the company,[27] she bowed three times, and was assisted to dismount
by her father-in-law. On parting with her horse she kissed his head three
times, and then, holding one end of a handkerchief extended to her by her
father-in-law, was led into a kind of huge cellar, dimly lighted by the
few rays that found their way through narrow slits high up in the walls.
In the midst stood a wine-barrel crowned with the bridal cake, on which
was placed a glass of wine. The scene here deepened in interest; the
priests, in their gorgeous sacerdotal robes and high black hats, holding
crosses in their hands, stood over this Bacchanalian altar awaiting the
bride and bridegroom, who, garlanded with vine-leaves and also holding
tapers, advanced solemnly, when the sacred Christian marriage rite, thus
imbued with the mysteries of the Dionysian festivals, was performed.
After having tasted the wine contained in the glass, and while walking
hand-in-hand three times round the barrel, a shower of fruits, cakes,
and sugar-plums was thrown over the couple. The ceremony ended by the
customary kissing, as observed among the Greeks. The company then sat
down to a hearty meal. The feasting on such occasions lasts till morning;
dancing, drinking, and singing continue till dawn, without, however, any
excess.

The next day, the banner crowned with the apple, still keeping its place,
proclaims to the guests who come to lead the bride to the village well
to throw in her _obol_, that she has virtuously acquired the rights of a
wife. Should the reverse be the case, the bride receives severe corporal
punishment, and mounted on a donkey, with her face turned towards its
tail, which she holds in her hands, is led back to her father’s house—a
barbarous custom which must be set aside after the disorders lately
committed in this country.

The custom of marrying in the most retired part of the house, instead
of the church, among the peasants, is, according to my information, the
result of the dread they had in times of oppression of giving unnecessary
publicity to their gatherings, and thus inviting the cupidity of some
savage band of their oppressors, who scrupled not when they had a chance
to fall upon and rob and injure them. This state of things was brought
back during late events.

Some months ago, a marriage was taking place in the village of B⸺, in
Macedonia. The bridal procession had just returned from church, when a
band of ferocious Turks fell upon the house where the festivities were
being held, robbing and beating right and left, until they arrived at
the unfortunate bride, whom, after divesting of all her belongings, they
dishonored and left to bewail her misfortunes in never-ending misery.
The distracted husband, barely escaping with his life, rushed into the
street, loudly calling upon his Christian brethren to shoot him down, and
thus relieve him of the life whose burden he could not bear.

The _trousseau_ of a Bulgarian peasant girl consists of the following
articles: A long shirt, embroidered with fine tapestry work in worsted
or colored silks round the collar, sleeves, and skirt; a sleeveless
coat (_sutna_), tightly fitting the figure, made of home-spun woollen
tissue, also richly embroidered; a sash (_poyous_), made of plaited wool,
half an inch wide and about eighty yards long, with which they gird
themselves; an overcoat, also embroidered; an apron, completely covered
with embroidery; embroidered woollen socks, garters, and red shoes. The
head-dress varies according to the district. In Bulgaria proper a sort of
high coif is worn, not unlike the pointed cap of English ladies in the
Middle Ages. In Macedonia, to the hair, cut short upon the forehead and
plaited behind in a number of braids, is added a long fringe of black
wool, braided, fastened round the head and falling below the knees; the
crown of the head being covered with a richly embroidered white cloth,
fastened on with innumerable silver ornaments and strings of coins.
The whole wardrobe, made of strong, durable materials, is home-spun
and home-made, and being elaborately embroidered forms an _ensemble_
extremely picturesque, very durable, and well adapted to the mode of
life of the wearers. One of these dresses often requires three months’
constant work to accomplish its embroidery; but I may as well add that it
will take a lifetime to wear it out.

In addition to these articles of dress, whose number varies according to
the condition of the person for whom they are intended, carpets, rugs,
towels, and a few sheets are added, together with a number of silver
ornaments, such as belts, necklaces, earrings, and bracelets, some of
which are extremely pretty.

The Bulgarian _trousseaux_, needing so much time and work, are in course
of preparation while the children for whom they are intended are still in
their infancy, and as each article is woven, it is packed away in a long,
bolster-shaped bag, in unison with their careful custom of exposing their
belongings to observation as little as possible.

I shall not dwell long upon the marriage of the wealthy in large towns
like Philippopolis. The religious service used is that of the orthodox
Greek Church, since there is no doctrinal difference between the creeds
of the Greeks and the Bulgarians.

The festivities, both among rich and poor, are continued for a week; the
former still adhering to some of the old usages for form’s sake. In the
town of Philippopolis the native customs have been in part set aside and
replaced by the European. At the last marriage I witnessed there the
bride was a shy little beauty, well versed in her own language, with a
pretty good knowledge of modern Greek and a smattering of French. Her
_trousseau_, like those of many of her rank, had been received from
Vienna, as well as the bridal dress, veil, and wreaths, presents from
the bridegroom. Some years ago dowries were not demanded, but a good
amount of fine jewelry, much appreciated by Bulgarian ladies, formed an
indispensable appendage to the _trousseau_.

Besides the European apparel given to brides, a large amount of native
home-made articles of dress and house linen are added. Some of these
are of exquisite taste and workmanship, such as _crêpe_ chemises, made
of mixed raw and floss silk; embroidered towels and sheets, worked with
an art and taste that can well vie with the finest French and English
embroideries; besides tissues in home-woven silk and cotton for bedding,
and other articles of native manufacture that would be well appreciated
if they could find their way into the wardrobes of fashionable Europeans.

The Bulgarian _élite_ follow the custom of being asked in marriage on the
lady’s side.

A number of Bulgarians are now educated in foreign countries, and attain
distinction and great success in the professions they exercise. When a
sufficient competence for life has been acquired, they return to their
homes in order to marry on their native soil, to which they are devotedly
attached.

Great is the commotion that the return of one of these absentees
occasions. Each member of the tribe of _Stroinicotes_, busily working in
the interest he or she represents, tries to outdo the others, until the
coveted prize is obtained. In the mean time the newcomer is feasted in
every direction, the mothers doing their utmost to be amiable and the
daughters to look their best; while the fathers are calculating whether
the new custom of giving dowries to their daughters is likely to be one
of the conditions of the hopeful match. Great is the glee of a parent on
hearing the welcome words of _Né kem pari; sa kumchupa_ (I ask no money;
I want the maiden), upon which the match is soon concluded by the usual
routine of betrothal, exchange of contracts, and presents. The lover is
free to visit his _fiancée_, and instill into her mind the ideas and
feelings that must elevate her to his own standard; a praiseworthy duty,
often crowned with success when the husband undertakes it in earnest.
Some of my most esteemed friends in Bulgaria were the wives of highly
educated men. The knowledge they possessed was limited; but they were
gentle, virtuous, ladylike, and admirable housewives, devoting all their
efforts to the education and improvement of their children, in whom they
try to develop those talents and qualities that in their own youth had
been left untrained. The Bulgarians after marriage are attached to their
home, husband and wife uniting their efforts to make it comfortable and
happy.


ARMENIAN WEDDINGS.

The Armenian _fiançailles_, although contracted in a very simple fashion,
are not easily annulled, and can only be set aside for very serious
reasons.

A priest, commissioned by the friends of the aspirant, makes the
proposals of marriage to the young lady’s parents. Should the offer be
accepted, he is again sent, accompanied by another priest, to present to
the _fiancée_ a small gold cross bought by her betrothed for the benefit
of the Church, and of a price proportioned to the means of the family.[28]

Girls are given in marriage at a very early age, some when they are but
twelve years old; but men seldom marry before they are twenty-two.

The wedding ceremony, as I remember seeing it in my childhood, and as
it still takes place in Armenia, where customs _à la Franca_ have not
yet penetrated among the primitive, semi-civilized people, is a truly
curious proceeding. Like the Turkish wedding, it takes place on a Monday.
A priest is sent by the bride’s parents to inform those of the bridegroom
that all is ready and the _Duhun_ may begin. On the Friday, invitations
are issued and the bride is taken to the bath with great ceremony. On the
Saturday, musicians are called in, and all the young maidens assemble
to partake of a feast intended especially for them, and extended to the
poor, who come in flocks to share in the good things.

Next day this festivity is repeated; the dinner is served at three,
and the young men are allowed to wait upon the girls—a rare privilege,
equally pleasing to either sex, at other times excluded from each other’s
society—and it is needless to say that they now make the most of their
opportunities.

As soon as this repast is over, the married people sit down to the
wedding dinner in a patriarchal fashion, husband and wife side by side,
while the young men are the last to partake of the bridal repast. In
the evening, they are again admitted to the company of the ladies, on
the plea of handing refreshments to them. About ten o’clock the bride
is taken into another room by her friends, who place upon her head a
curious silver plate, over which a long piece of scarlet silk is thrown,
falling to her feet, secured at the sides by ribbons, enveloping her in
a complete bag, drawn tight at the top of her head, under the silver
plate; two extraordinary-looking wings called _sorgooch_, made of stiff
card-board, covered with feathers, are fastened on each side of the head.
When this disguise is complete, the bride, blindfolded by her veil, is
led forth from the apartment, and conducted by her father or nearest male
relative to open a round dance, during the performance of which money is
showered over her. She is then led to a corner, where she sits awaiting
the arrival of the bridegroom in the solitude of her crimson cage.

The bridegroom’s toilette begins early in the afternoon: he is seated in
the middle of the room surrounded by a joyous company of friends; the
_gingahar_, or best man, and a host of boys arrive, accompanied by the
band of music sent in search of them.

The barber, an all-important functionary, must not be overlooked: razor
in hand, girded with his silk scarf, his towel over one shoulder, and
a species of leather strap over the other, he commences operations,
prolonged during an indefinite period, much enlivened by his gossip and
_bon mots_, and turned to his advantage by the presents he receives
from the assembled company, who, one by one, suspend their gifts on a
cord, stretched by him for the purpose across the room. These gifts
consist chiefly of towels, pieces of cloth, scarves, etc. When the gossip
considers the generosity of the company exhausted, he gives the signal
for the production of the wedding garments, which, brought in state
together with the bridegroom’s presents to his bride, must receive the
benediction of the priest before they can be used.

After the evening meal has been partaken of, the gifts, accompanied by
the musicians, are conveyed to the bride, the company following with the
bridegroom, who walks between two torches, and is met at the door by
another band of music.

On entering the presence of his future mother-in-law and her nearest
relatives, he receives a gift from her and respectfully kisses her hand.
Allowed a few moments’ rest, he is seated on a chair between two flaring
torches, after which he is led into the presence of his veiled bride,
to whom he extends his hand, which she takes, extricating her own with
difficulty from under her _duvak_, and is assisted to descend from her
sofa corner, and stands facing her betrothed with her forehead reclining
against his. A short prayer, called the “half service,” is read over the
couple; their hands, locked together, must not be loosed till they arrive
at the street door, when two bridesmaids supporting the bride on each
side lead her at a slow pace to the church.

The procession is headed by the bridegroom and his men, followed by the
bride and the ladies; no person is allowed to cross the road between the
two parties. On entering the sacred edifice, the couple, making the
sign of the cross three times, offer a prayer, believing that whatever
they ask at this moment will be granted them; they then approach the
altar steps and stand side by side. An Armenian superstition considers
some days more propitious than others for the celebration of weddings,
consequently a number of bridal couples generally collect on the same
day, and at the same hour. I was present on one occasion when the church
at Broussa, although a vast building, scarcely sufficed to accommodate
the friends of the sixty couples waiting to get married. The brides, all
similarly dressed, were pushed forward by the dense crowd of relatives,
friends, and spectators towards the altar, where the sixty bridegrooms
awaited them, standing in a line. Two brides, alike in stature, changed
places, in the hurry and confusion of the moment. One was a pretty
peasant girl, whose only dower was her beauty, destined to become the
wife of a blacksmith; the other was the ugly daughter of a wealthy
Armenian, about to be united to a man of her own station. The mistake was
noticed, but the nuptial knot being already tied, it was too late to be
rectified, no divorce for such a cause being allowed among Armenians.

The bridegroom who could only complain in a pecuniary point of view made
the best of it,—doubtless consoled by the adage that beauty unadorned
is adorned the most; while the blacksmith, greatly benefited by this
unexpected good turn from Dame Fortune, had probably pleasant dreams of
abandoning the hammer and anvil and passing the rest of his days in ease,
affluence, and plenty, and was ready to admit that riches, like fine
garments, may hide a multitude of defects.

But let us return to the marriage ceremony. The first part of the
service is read by the priest, standing on the altar steps; the couples,
placed in a row before him, with the best men and boys behind him. He
asks each couple separately, first the bridegroom, and then the bride,
the following question:—“_Chiorus topalus cabullus?_”[29] To which the
parties answer in the affirmative. Should either person object to the
union, the objection is accepted, and the marriage cannot be proceeded
with; but incidents of this kind are rare: only one ever came under my
notice.

After the formalities of the acceptance have been gone through, the
couple stand facing each other, with their heads touching, and a small
gold cross is tied with a red silken string on the forehead of each,
and the symbol of the Holy Ghost pressed against them. The ceremony
terminates by the partaking of wine; after which, the married pair walk
hand-in-hand to the door of the church; but from the church to her home
the bride is once more supported by the bridesmaids. The moment they are
about to cross the threshold, a sheep is sacrificed, over whose blood
they step into the house.

When husband and wife are seated side by side, the guests come one by
one, kiss the crosses on their foreheads, and drop coins into a tray, for
the benefit of the officiating priest.

The bride is now once more led to her solitary corner; the veil, which
she has been wearing all the time of the ceremony, is momentarily lifted
from her face, and she is refreshed with a cup of coffee, into which she
drops money as she gives it back; a male child is then placed on her
knees for a short time. This formality is followed by a regular scramble
for her stockings by a flock of children, who make a great rush towards
her feet, pull off her boots and stockings, which they shake, in order to
find the money previously placed in them.

The bride and bridegroom soon after open a round dance, and during its
performance money is again thrown over their heads.

The bride is again led back to her corner, where she remains a mute and
veiled image; sleeping at night with that awful plate on her head, and
guarded by her maiden friends, who do not desert her until Wednesday
evening, when the bridegroom is finally allowed to dine _tête-à-tête_
with the bride. The only guests admitted that day to the family dinner
are the priest and his wife; the latter passes the night in the house,
and is commissioned the next morning to carry the tidings to the bride’s
mother that her daughter has happily entered upon the duties of married
life.

At noon a luncheon is given to the relatives and friends, who collect to
offer their congratulations.

On Saturday, the ceremony of kissing the hands of her mother and
father-in-law is again gone through; the bridal veil on this occasion
is replaced by one of crimson _crêpe_, which she wears until her
father-in-law gives her a present and allows her to remove it. Brides are
not allowed to utter a word in the presence of a near relative of their
husband until permitted to do so by his father. This permission, however,
is sometimes not easily obtained, and years may elapse before it is
given. Many a young wife has gone to her grave without having spoken to
her father- and mother-in-law.

Though the Armenians are sensual and despotic, they generally make
good husbands; but the standard of morality is getting lax among the
emancipated followers of the customs _à la Franca_, who, being entirely
ignorant of the rules of true breeding, often abuse the freedom of
European manners.




CHAPTER XVII.

FUNERAL CEREMONIES.

    _Moslem Funerals._—Fatalism—Ceremonies before Burial—Testimony
    of the Guests—Procession to the Grave—The Imam’s
    Questioning—Funerals of Women—Effects of Rapid Burial—Sorrow
    for the Dead—Mourning—Prayers for the Dead—Funeral of a Dervish
    Sheikh.

    _Greek Funerals._—Remains of Ancient Greek
    Rites—Myriologia—The Obol for Charon—The Funeral Service—The
    Interment—Mourning—Second Marriage—Masses for the Souls of the
    Departed—Wheat Offerings—Opening of the Tomb and Collecting of
    the Bones—Bulgarian Ceremonies—Messages to the Other World.


Few people in the world view the approach of death with such
indifference, or receive its fatal blow with such calmness and
resignation, as the Moslems.

According to some verses taken from the Koran, earthly existence is but a
fleeting shadow, seen for a moment, then lost sight of forever; its joys
and pleasures all delusion; itself a mere stepping-stone to the celestial
life awaiting the true believer.

“Know that this life is but a sport—a pastime—a show—a cause of
vain-glory among you! And the multiplying of riches and children is
like the (plants which spring up after) rain; whose growth rejoices the
husbandman; then they wither away and thou seest them all yellow; then
they become stubble.”[30]

Kismet (destiny) and Edjel (the appointed time of death) are decreed by
Allah. Every one of his creatures has these traced on his forehead in
invisible letters. Kismet, disposing of his earthly career; Edjel, fixing
its duration and the nature of its end. “To an appointed time doth he
respite them.”[31]

Seen from this fatalistic point of view, the terrors of death impress
Moslems mostly when viewed from a distance; and its name, softened by
some poetical expression, is never uttered in refined society without the
preface of _Sis den irak olsoun_, “Far be it from you;” and the common
people invariably spit before uttering it.

At the approach of death, the moribund appears resigned to his fate, and
his friends reconciled to the thought of his approaching end. No Imam or
servant of God is called in to soothe the departing spirit or speed its
flight by the administration of sacraments. The friends and relatives
collected round the couch weep in silence, and if the departing one is
able to speak, _helal_ (forgiveness) is requested and given. Prayers are
repeated by the pious, to keep away the evil spirits that are supposed to
collect in greater force at such moments. Charitable donations are made,
and other acts of generosity performed at death-beds; and frequently at
such times slaves are set free by their owners; for it is written: “They
who give alms by night and by day, in private and in public, shall have
their reward with their Lord; no fear shall come upon them, neither shall
they grieve.”[32]

The moment the soul is believed to have quitted the body, the women begin
to utter wailings. Some tear their hair, others beat their breasts, in
an outburst of genuine sorrow. A lull soon follows, and, without loss
of time, preparations are made for performing the last duties to the
corpse; for the Turks do not keep their dead unburied any longer than is
necessary for the completion of these preliminaries.

If the death be that of a person of consequence, the Muëzzin chants the
special cry from the minaret; and invitations are issued to friends and
acquaintances for the funeral. Directly after death the eyelids are
pressed down and the chin bandaged; the body is undressed and laid on a
bed called _rahat yatak_ (“couch of comfort”) with the hands stretched
by the side, the feet tied together, and the head turned towards the
_Kibla_. A veil is then laid over the body. While the company is
gathering in the Selamlik, or in the street, performing the ablution
(_abtest_), and preparing for the prayer (_namaz_), the corpse, if it
be that of a man, is taken into the court-yard on the stretcher, and an
Imam, with two subordinates, proceeds to wash it.

The formalities connected with this observance are of strictly religious
character, and consequently carried out to the letter. The first
condition to be observed is to keep the lower part of the body covered,
the next to handle it with great gentleness and attention, lest those
engaged in the performance of that duty draw upon them the curse of the
dead. Seven small portions of cotton are rolled up in seven small pieces
of calico; each of these is successively passed between the limbs by
the Imam, while some hot water is poured over the bundles, which are
then cast away one after the other. After the rest of the body has been
washed, the _abtest_, or formal religious ablution, is administered to
it. This consists in washing the hands, and in bringing water in the hand
three times to the nose, three times to the lips, and three times from
the crown of the head to the temples; from behind the ears to the neck;
from the palm of the hand to the elbow, and then to the feet, first to
the right and then to the left. This strange ceremony is performed twice.
The _tabout_ (coffin) is then brought in and placed by the side of the
stretcher, both of coarse deal, put together with the rudest workmanship.
Before laying the body in the coffin, a piece of new calico, double its
size, is brought. A strip about two inches in width is torn off the edge,
and divided into three pieces, which are placed upon three long scarves
laid across the shell. The calico, serving as a shroud, is next stretched
in the coffin, and a thousand and one drachms of cotton, with which to
envelope the corpse, are placed upon it. Some of this cotton is used to
stop the issues of the body, and is placed under the armpits and between
the fingers and toes.

The body is then dressed in a sleeveless shirt, called _kaflet_, and is
gently placed in the coffin. Pepper is sifted on the eyes, and a saline
powder on the face, to preserve from untimely decay; rose-water is then
sprinkled on the face, which is finally enveloped in the remainder of
the cotton. The shroud is then drawn over and secured by the three strips
of calico, one tied round the head, the other round the waist and the
third round the feet, and the coffin is closed down.

When all is ready, the guests are admitted; and the Imam, turning round,
asks the crowd: “O congregation! What do you consider the life of this
man to have been?” “Good,” is the invariable response. “Then give _helal_
to him.”

The coffin, covered with shawls and carrying at the head the turban or
fez of the deceased hung on a peg, is then borne on the shoulders of
four or more individuals who are constantly relieved by others; and the
funeral procession, composed exclusively of men, headed by the Imam
and Hodjas, slowly winds its way in silence through the streets until
it arrives at the mosque where the funeral service is to be read. The
coffin is deposited on a slab of marble, and a short Namaz, called _Mihit
Namaz_, is performed by the congregation standing. This concluded, the
procession resumes its way to the burial-ground, where the coffin is
deposited by the side of the grave, which, for a man, is dug up to the
height of a man’s waist, for a woman, up to her shoulder.

A small clod of earth, left at one end of the excavation, in the
direction of the _Kibla_, takes the place of a pillow. The coffin is then
uncovered, and the body gently lifted out of it by the ends of the three
scarves, previously placed under it (one supporting the head, another the
middle of the body, and the third the feet), and lowered into its last
resting-place. A short prayer is then recited, a plank or two laid at a
little distance above the body, and the grave is filled up.

At this stage, all the congregation withdraw, and the Imam is left alone
by the side of the grave, where he is believed to enter into mysterious
communications with the spirit of the departed, who is supposed to
answer all the questions on his creed which his priest puts to him. He
is prompted in these answers by two spirits, one good and one evil, who
are believed to take their places by his side. Should he have been an
indifferent follower of the Prophet, and forbidden to enter Paradise, the
evil spirit forces him to deny the only true God, and make a profession
unto himself. A terrible battle is supposed to ensue in the darkness
of the grave between the good and evil spirits called _Vanqueur_ and
_Veniqueur_.[33] The good angel spares not his blows upon the corpse and
the evil spirit, until the latter, beaten and disabled, abandons his
prey, who by Allah’s mercy is finally accepted within the fold of the
true believers.

This scene, however, is revealed to none by the Imam, and remains a
secret between Allah, the departed, and himself. I have questioned
several Mohammedans of different classes about this superstition, and
they all appear to believe in it implicitly. Most credulous are the
women, who embellish the tale with Oriental exaggeration and wonderful
fancies that pass description.

The funeral ceremonies of the women are similar to those of the men, with
the exceptions, that the washing is done by women screened from view,
and that when the body is laid upon the “couch of comfort,” the face, as
well as the body, is half covered, instead of the body only. During the
procession the only apparent difference is that, instead of the fez on
the peg at the head of the coffin, one sees the _chimber_, or coif.

The necessity of immediate burial in hot climates where Islam had its
birth and passed its childhood must have been the cause of the adoption
of the custom in Turkey. It has the disadvantage, that in the time of an
epidemic, such as cholera, a great number of people are falsely taken for
dead and buried alive; but when accident reveals the disturbed condition
of these unfortunate beings to the living, instead of exciting the horror
of relations, the disturbance is universally attributed to struggles
with evil spirits after burial. Few invalids receive regular medical
attendance, and post-mortem examinations are unheard of.

It is considered sinful for parents to manifest extreme sorrow for
the loss of their children; for it is believed that the children of
over-mourning parents are driven out of Paradise and made to wander about
in darkness and solitude, weeping and wailing as their parents do on
earth. But it is the reverse with the case of children bereaved of their
parents; they are expected never to cease sorrowing, and are required to
pray night and day for their parents’ forgiveness and acceptance into
Paradise.

Part of the personal effects of the deceased is given to the poor, and
charity distributed, according to the means of the family. On the third
day after the funeral, _loukmas_ (doughnuts), covered with sifted sugar,
are distributed to the friends of the family and to the poor, for the
benefit of the soul of the departed. The ceremony is repeated on the
seventh and the fortieth days, when bread is also distributed. These
acts of charity are supposed to excite the gratitude of the departed, if
already in Paradise, and if in “another place” to occasion him a moment
of rest and comfort.

External marks of mourning are not in usage among the Turks. Nothing
is changed in the dress or routine of life in consequence of a death
in a family. Visits of condolence are, however, paid by friends, who,
on entering, express their sympathy by the saying, _Sis sagh oloun
evlatlarounouz sagh olsoun_ (“May you live, and may your children live”),
with other expressions of a similar nature. Friends and relatives say
prayers at stated times for the soul of the departed. On my mentioning
to a Turkish lady that I was about to visit a common friend who a year
before had lost a beautiful daughter of fourteen years, she begged
me to say that her two girls, friends of the child, never failed to
offer prayers for the departed soul every day at noon. After the first
outbreak of grief, both men and women become calm and quite collected
in appearance, and speak of the event as one that could not have been
averted by human help.

When a dervish sheikh of repute dies, his remains are followed to the
grave by all the members of his brotherhood, by dervishes of the other
orders, and a large concourse of the population. It is a most impressive
and interesting sight: the long procession slowly winding through the
narrow streets, the variety of costumes presented by the numerous orders
of the dervishes, some with flowing robes and high sugar-loaf hats,
others with white felt caps and green or white turbans; all with bowed
heads and looks of deep humility, uttering at intervals the sacred word
_Allah_! On passing a mosque or _tekké_, the coffin is deposited in
front of the gate, and a service is chanted, the congregation joining
in the refrain of _Amin! Amin!_ when the body is again taken up and the
procession resumed.

The long survival of ancient customs is a continual subject of surprise
and interest; but nowhere is their seeming immortality more remarkable
than among the subject races of Turkey. The Greeks, whether residents
of Greece, Macedonia, Epirus, or other parts of south-east Europe, have
in many respects become assimilated to the different races among whom
they live; but nowhere do they appear to have lost in any marked degree
the characteristic features of their nationality—their language or their
ancient customs. Christianity and other causes have modified many of the
ancient ceremonies, but a rich heritage still remains to certify their
origin and bear testimony to the antiquity of their descent. Among the
most striking of these heirlooms are the funeral rites, in which the
modern Greeks closely preserve the traditions of their ancestors. The
fundamental points in these ceremonies are the same among Greeks wherever
they may be, and are everywhere observed by them with religious care.

The following is a description of the funeral ceremonies observed in
Macedonia and in other parts of European Turkey.

At the approach of death a priest is sent for to administer the sacrament
to the sick man. The family gather round the couch, give the dying
person the kiss of farewell, and press down his eyelids when his soul
has departed. His couch and linen are changed, and after being anointed
with oil and wine, and sprinkled with earth, he is dressed in his most
gorgeous apparel upon a table covered with a linen cloth, with the
feet pointing towards the door, with hands crossed on the breast, and
limbs stretched out to their full extent. A stone is placed in the room
and left there for three days. Friends watch round the body, chanting
Myriologia,[34] or dirges, lamenting his loss and illustrating his life
and the cause of his death. Tapers are kept burning all night round
the body, which is decorated with flowers and green branches. A cup is
placed on the body and buried with it; after the expiration of three
years it is taken out and treasured in the family. Should a person suffer
from the effects of fright, water is given to him in this cup without
his knowledge, which is supposed to prevent any ill consequences. The
interment usually takes place on the day following the death. Invited
friends assemble at the house of mourning, the priests arrive, and the
coffin, uncovered, is wreathed with flowers. The _obol_ of the ancients,
the ναῦλον for Charon, is not forgotten; a small coin is placed between
the lips, and a cake, soaked in wine, is eaten by the company, who say,
Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τόν. After the preliminary prayers have been offered,
the funeral procession proceeds to the church. Crosses are carried by the
clergy and lighted tapers by others. The coffin is borne on the shoulders
of men, and black streamers, ταινια, attached to it are held by the
elders of the community or the persons of greatest importance present.

Prayers are chanted as the funeral train slowly proceeds to the church,
where the body is placed in the nave. When the prayers and funeral mass
are concluded, the priest tells the relatives and intimate friends of the
deceased to give him the farewell kiss. On arriving at the cemetery, the
bier is placed by the side of the grave, the last prayers are offered,
the coffin-lid is nailed down, and the body is lowered into the earth.
After the priest has thrown in a spadeful of gravel in the form of a
cross, the spade is passed to the relatives, who do the same in turn,
with the words Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τὴν ψυχὴν τοῦ (“God rest his soul”). The
bier is then again covered with the pall, and the grave is filled up. On
returning to the house of sorrow, water and towels are offered to the
guests for washing their hands. They then sit down to a repast, at which
fish, eggs, and vegetables alone are eaten.

The mourning worn by Greeks is similar to that of other European nations;
all ornaments, jewelry, and colored apparel are set aside, and both sexes
dress in plain black, and in some instances dress their furniture in
covers of the same mournful hue. The men often let their beards grow as
a sign of sorrow, and women frequently cut off their hair at the death
of their husbands, and bury it with them; I have known many instances of
this custom. In Epirus and Thessaly a widow would lose respect if she
contracted a second marriage, and in other parts it would be strictly
prohibited by custom.

On the evenings of the third, ninth, twentieth, and fortieth days, masses
are said for the soul of the departed. These are called _kolyva_. On the
fortieth _kolyva_, two sacks of flour are made into bread, and a loaf
sent to every family of friends as an invitation to the service held in
the church. Boiled wheat is placed on a tray, and ornamented, if for a
young person, with red and white sugar; if for an elderly person, with
white only. This is sent to the church previously, prayers are read over
it, and every person takes a handful, saying Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τόν, and a
small bottle of wine is presented to the priests.

On the following morning the friends assemble at the house of mourning,
and take more boiled wheat to church. On returning, they sit down to a
meal, after again saying Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τόν. This concluded, they
proceed to the grave, accompanied by the priest, and erect a tombstone. A
feast is subsequently given to the poor.

Tapers are kept burning in the house for forty days. On the last of these
a list of the ancestors of the deceased is read, and prayers are offered
for their souls. These ceremonies are repeated at intervals during the
space of three years, at the expiration of which the tomb is opened, and
if the body is sufficiently decomposed, the bones are collected in a
cloth, placed in a basket, dressed in fine raiment, adorned with flowers,
and taken to church, where they are left for nine days. Every evening
the relatives go to say prayers, and take boiled wheat to the church.
If the person had been of some standing, twelve priests and a bishop
perform mass. The bones are then put in a box, surmounted by a cross, and
replaced in the tomb.

Should the body not be sufficiently decomposed at the end of the three
years, it is supposed to be possessed, and for three years longer the
same prayers and ceremonies are repeated.

The funeral ceremonies of the Bulgarians differ from those of the Greeks
only in their preliminary usages. The religious service is very similar.
The sacrament is administered to the dying person, and his last hours are
cheered by the presence of relatives and friends.

After death he is laid upon a double mattress between sheets, and
completely dressed in his gala costume, with new shoes and stockings. A
pillow of home-spun is filled with handfuls of earth by all the persons
present, and placed under the head.

A curious idea prevails that messages can be conveyed by the departing
soul to other lost friends by means of flowers and candles, which are
deposited on a plate placed on the breast of the corpse.

An hour after death a priest comes to read prayers for the dead, tapers
are lighted, and dirges chanted until the following morning, when the
clergy again arrive to accompany the body to its last resting-place. Mass
is performed in the church, and when the procession reaches the grave a
barrel of wine is opened, and boiled wheat, with loaves, are distributed
to all present, who say _Bogda prosti_ (“God have mercy on his soul”).
The gay costume is taken off, and libations of oil and wine poured on
the body; the shroud is drawn over the face, the coffin nailed down and
lowered into the grave.

Returning to the house of mourning, the company wash their hands over the
fire, and three days afterwards everything in the house is washed. The
objects that cannot be washed are sprinkled with water and exposed to the
air for three days, given to the poor, or sold.

The ceremonies of the _kolyva_ are the same as among the Greeks, and
the bones are disinterred at the end of three years, with the same
observances.




CHAPTER XVIII.

EDUCATION AMONG THE MOSLEMS.

    _Home Education._—Influence of the Mother—Disrespect of
    Children—Toys—No Bath nor any Exercise—Bad Influence of Servants—No
    Discipline—Dirtiness—Dress—Food—Conversation—Tutors—Nurses—Immoral
    Influence of the Dadi—The Lala—Turkish Girls and Education—An
    Exceptional Family—Turks “educated” at Paris—Religious Shackles.

    _Moslem Schools._—_Mektebs_, or National Schools—Dogmatic
    Theology taught—Reforms—_Rushdiyés_—_Idadiyés_—Teachers’
    School—Reforms of Ali and Fouad Pasha—The Schools of
    Salonika—State of Education in these Schools—Moslem View of
    Natural Science—The Dulmé Girls’ School—The Turkish Girls’
    School—The _Lyceum_: its Design, Temporary Success, and
    Present Abandonment—The _Medressés_—Education of the Upper
    Classes—Official Ignorance.


The absence of any approach to sound education of the most rudimentary
kind throughout the country is among the prime causes of the present
degraded condition of the Turks. Both at home and at school the Moslem
learns almost nothing that will serve him in good stead in after life.
Worse than this, in those early years spent at home, when the child ought
to have instilled into him some germ of those principles of conduct by
which men must walk in the world if they are to hold up their heads among
civilized nations, the Turkish child is only taught the first steps
towards those vicious habits of mind and body which have made his race
what it is. The root of the evil is partly found in the harem system. So
long as that system keeps Turkish women in their present degraded state,
so long will Turkish boys and girls be vicious and ignorant.

Turkish mothers have not the slightest control over their children. They
are left to do very much as they like, become wayward, disobedient, and
unbearably tyrannical. I have often noticed young children, especially
boys, strike, abuse, and even curse their mothers, who, helpless to
restrain them, either respond by a torrent of foul invective, or, in
their maternal weakness, indulgently put up with it, saying, “_Jahil
chojuk, né belir?_” (“Innocent child! what does it know?”)

I was once visiting at a Pasha’s house, where, among the numerous company
present, a shrivelled-up old lady made herself painfully conspicuous by
the amount of rouge on her cheeks. The son of my hostess, an impudent
little scamp of ten years, independently marched in, and, roughly pulling
his mother by her skirt, demanded a _beshlik_ (shilling); she attempted
a compromise, and offered half the sum, when the young rascal, casting
side glances at the painted old lady, said, “A whole _beshlik_, or I will
out with all you said about that _hanoum_ and her rouged cheeks, as well
as that other one’s big nose!” My friend, exceedingly embarrassed, under
this pressure, acceded to her son’s demand, the only way she could see of
getting rid of his troublesome company.

As a general rule the manner in which children use their mothers among
the lower classes is still worse, and quite painful to witness. When
these youngsters are not at school they may be seen playing in the
street, paddling in the water near some fountain, making mud-pies, or
playing with walnuts and stones, at times varying their amusements, in
some retired quarter, by annoying Christian passers-by, calling out
_Giaour gepek!_ (“Infidel dog”), and throwing stones at them. Under
the parental roof they express their desires in an authoritative tone,
calling out disrespectful exclamations to their mothers.

Should their requests meet with the slightest resistance, they will
sit stamping with their feet, pounding with their hands, clamoring and
screaming, till they obtain the desired object. The mothers, who have as
little control over themselves as over their children, quickly lose their
temper, and begin vituperating their children in language of which a very
mild but general form is, _Yerin dibiné batasen!_ (“May you sink under
the earth!”)[35]

Turkish children are not favored with the possession of any of the
instructive books, toy-tools, games, etc., that European ingenuity
has invented for the amusement of children, and which may be obtained
at Constantinople and other cities of Turkey; the only playthings
they possess are rattles, trumpets, a rude species of doll (made of
rag-bundles), cradles, and a kind of _polichinello_, fashioned, in the
most primitive manner, of wood, and decorated with a coarse daub of
bright-colored paint, applied without any regard to artistic effect.
These are sometimes sold in the chandlers’ shops, but are only exposed
for sale in large quantities during the Bairams, when they make their
appearance, piled in heaps on a mat, in the thoroughfares nearest the
mosques.

A Turkish child is never known to take a cold bath in the morning; is
never made to take a constitutional walk, or to have his limbs developed
by the healthy exercise of gymnastics. No children’s libraries exist,
to stimulate the desire for study—for which, it is true, little taste
is displayed. Among the higher classes an unnaturally sedate deportment
is expected from children when in the presence of their father and his
guests, before whom they present themselves with the serious look and
demeanor of old men, make a deep salaam, and sit at the end of the
room with folded hands, answering with extreme deference the questions
addressed to them. Out of sight, and in the company of menials, they have
no restraint placed upon them, use the most licentious language, and play
nasty practical jokes; or indulge in teasing the women of the harem to
any extent; receiving all the time the most indecent encouragement, both
by word and action, from the parasites, slaves, and dependants hanging
about the house. No regular hours are kept for getting up and going to
bed. The children, even when sleepy, obstinately refuse to go to their
beds, and prefer to stretch themselves on a sofa, whence they are carried
fast asleep. On rising, no systematic attention is paid either to their
food, ablutions, or dressing. A wash is given to their faces and hands;
but their heads, not regularly or daily combed, generally afford shelter
to creeping guests, that can only be partially dislodged at the _Hammam_.

Their dress, much neglected, is baggy and slovenly at all times; but it
becomes a ridiculous caricature when copied from the European fashion;
shoes and stockings are not much used in the house, but when worn, the
former are unfastened, and the latter kept up by rags hanging down
their legs. A _gedjlik_ (night-dress) of printed calico, an _intari_
(dressing-gown), _ayak-kab_ (trousers), and a _libardé_ (quilted jacket),
worn in the house, do duty both by night and day.

Children are allowed to breakfast on anything they find in the larder or
buy from the hawkers of cakes in the streets.

No person exercising the functions of governess, nursery governess, or
head nurse, exists in harems. There is no reserve of language observed
before young girls, who are allowed to listen to conversations in which
spades are very decidedly called spades. The absence of refined subjects
naturally leads the tone of these conversations, at times, to so low
a level as to render its sense quite unintelligible to the European
listener, though it is perfectly understanded of the Turkish maiden.

Turks sometimes have _hodjas_ as tutors for their sons; but these are
not always professional instructors of youth, and their supervision over
their pupils seldom extends beyond the hours of study. The _hodjas_,
belonging to religious orders, are grave, sanctimonious persons; having
little in common with their pupils, who find it difficult to exchange
ideas with them, and thus to benefit in a general way by their teaching.
Poor _effendis_ or _kyatibs_ are sometimes engaged to fill the office
of tutors, but their inferior position in the house deprives them of
any serious control over their charges. The _dadi_, appointed to attend
upon the child from its earliest infancy, plays a great part during its
youthful career; her charge, seldom separated from her, will, if she be
good and respectable, benefit by her care; but if she be the reverse,
her influence cannot be anything but prejudicial, especially to boys,
whose moral education, entirely neglected at this stage, receives a
vicious impulse from this associate. The fact that the _dadi’s_ being
the property of his parents gives him certain rights over her is early
understood and often abused by the boy.

I have seen an instance of the results of these boyish connections in the
house of a Pasha, who, as a child, had formed a strong attachment for his
_dadi_, and, yielding to her influence, had later been induced to marry
her, although at the time she must have been more than double his age.
When I made her acquaintance she was an old woman, superseded by four
young companions, whose lives she made as uncomfortable as she could by
way of retaliation for the pain her husband’s neglect was causing her.
The fourth and youngest of these wives, naturally the favorite, nearly
paid with her life for the affection she was supposed to have diverted
from the _Bash Kadin_ (first wife); for the quondam _dadi_, taking
advantage of her rival’s unconsciousness whilst indulging in a siesta,
tried to pour quicksilver into her ears. The fair slumberer fortunately
awoke in time; and the attempted crime was passed over in consideration
of the culprit’s past maternal services, and of the position she then
held.

Next to the important functions of _dadi_ those of _lala_ must be
mentioned. He is a male slave into whose care the children of both sexes
are intrusted when out of the harem. He has to amuse them, take them out
walking, and to school and back. His rank, however, does not separate
him from his fellow servants, with whom he still lives in common; and
when the children come to him, he takes them generally first to their
father’s apartment, and then into the servants’ hall, where they are
allowed to witness the most obscene practical jokes, often played upon
the children themselves; and to listen to conversations of the most
revolting nature, only to be matched I should think in western Europe
among the most degraded inhabitants of the lowest slums. This is one of
those evil customs that cannot be other than ruinous to the morality of
Turkish children, who thus from an early age get initiated into subjects
and learn language of which they should for years be entirely ignorant.

The girls are allowed free access into the _selamlik_ up to the time
they are considered old enough to wear the veil; which, once adopted,
must exclude a female from further intercourse with the men’s side of
the house. The shameful neglect girls experience during childhood leaves
them alone to follow their own instincts; alternately spoiled and rudely
chastened by uneducated mothers, they grow up in hopeless ignorance of
every branch of study that might develop their mental or moral faculties
and fit them to fulfil the duties that must in time devolve upon them.

I am glad to say that, in this respect, a change for the better is taking
place at Constantinople: the education of the girls among the higher
classes is much improved; elementary teaching, besides instruction in
music and needlework, is given to them; and a few are even so highly
favored as to have European governesses, who find their pupils wanting
neither in intelligence nor in good-will to profit by their instruction.
I have known Turkish girls speak foreign languages, but the number of
such accomplished young ladies is limited, owing partly to the dislike
which even the most enlightened Turks feel to allowing their daughters
any rational independence; for the girls, they say, are destined to
a life of harem restraint with which they would hardly feel better
satisfied if they had once tasted of liberty; their life would only be
less happy, instead of happier; ignorance in their case being bliss, it
would be folly to make them wise!—If true, only another argument for the
overthrow of the system.

Some time ago, when at Constantinople, I visited an old friend, a
Christian by birth, but the wife of a Pasha. This lady, little known to
the _beau monde_ of Stamboul, a most ladylike, sweet woman, was married
when her husband was a student in Europe and she a school-girl. She has
held fast to her religion, and her enlightened husband has never denied
her the rights of her European liberty; though, when in the capital, she
wears the _yashmak_, out of _convenance_. Her children are Mohammedans.
The daughter, now a young lady of eighteen, a most charming, accomplished
girl, is justly named “The Budding Rose of the Bosphorus.” Some Turkish
ladies acquainted with this family spoke of it to me as an example of
perfection worthy of study and imitation. A truly poetical attachment
binds the mother and daughter together, and finding no congeniality in
their Mohammedan acquaintances, in the simplicity of their retired life
they have become all in all to each other, and are doted upon by the
father and brother. It was very pleasant to look upon the harmony that
existed in this family, notwithstanding the wide differences in the
customs and religions of its members. For many years I had lost sight of
my friends, and at length found them caged up in one of the lovely villas
on the Bosphorus; the mother now a woman of forty, the daughter a slim,
bright fairy.

After the surprise caused by my visit and the friendly greetings were
over, Madame B⸺, full of delight and happiness, related to me the
engagement of her daughter to one of the wealthiest and most promising
grandees of _La Jeune Turquie_, who, having just completed his studies
in Paris, was expected in a few days to come and claim her as his bride.
She was to dwell beneath the paternal roof, and I was taken to visit the
apartments that had been prepared for the young couple. They were most
exquisitely furnished, with draperies of straw-colored satin, richly
embroidered by the deft fingers of the ladies. The mother, her face
beaming with joy, said to me, “Am I not happy in marrying my daughter to
an enlightened young Turk, who, there is every reason to expect, will
prove as good and affectionate a husband to her as mine has been to me?”

The young lady had known her affianced before his departure for Paris;
full of faith and hope, she nourished a deep love for him, and, in the
innocent purity of her heart, felt sure he responded to it.

I have not seen these ladies since, but a short time after my visit I was
deeply grieved to hear that this seemingly well-adapted match was broken
off in consequence of the young Bey having returned accompanied by a
French ballet-dancer, whom he declared he did not intend to give up.

I have heard that, generally speaking, Paris is not the most profitable
school for young Turks. Attracted by the immense amount of pleasure and
amusement there afforded to strangers, they become negligent students,
waste their time and money in profitless pursuits, keep company of the
most doubtful kind, are led to contract some of the worst Parisian
habits, and return to their country, having acquired little more than a
superficial varnish of European manners. These they proudly display; but
at heart they profoundly despise the nation whose virtues they failed
to acquire, whilst they plunged freely into those vices which were more
congenial to their habits and nature.

Those who are acquainted with Stamboul life may remember the sensation
caused in 1873 by a band of young Turkish ruffians, who bore the name of
_Tussun_, whose declared object was to initiate the youth of both sexes
into those dark practices of the Asiatics still so prevalent among the
upper classes. This abominable society was so strong that the police
were, for a time, powerless against it. The chief of these vagabonds
was stated to be the son of a member of the Sultan’s household, and the
other young men were connected with some high Turkish families. It was
only by the most active interference of the minister of justice that this
fraternity was finally put down.

One of the great drawbacks the progress of education meets with among the
Turks is the insurmountable repulsion Mohammedans feel to freeing this
movement from the fetters of religion. The most enlightened of Turks will
be found wanting in good-will and assistance when the question is that
of promoting the current of liberal ideas at the cost of the religious
dogmas which regulate all his social habits; and these retrograde notions
cannot be openly repudiated even by those who profess no belief in the
religion upon which they are supposed to be founded. These sceptical
Turks, possessing no distinct conception of any philosophical school
whose aim should be to replace prejudice and superstition by the
propagation of free thought, based upon morality and scientific research,
merely become reckless and unprincipled, but are of no more use than
the bigoted party in helping forward an undenominational movement in
education.

Until quite recent times the only public institutions for the education
of the Turkish youth were those common to all Moslem countries,
the _Mahallé Mektebs_, or primary schools, and the _Medressés_, or
Mosque-Colleges. The _Mektebs_ are to Turkey, though in a still more
inefficient way, what the old National Schools were to England. They
are the universal, and till recently the only existing, instruments of
rudimentary education for the children of both sexes of all classes.
Like the old-fashioned National Schools, religion is the main thing
taught; only in the Turkish Mektebs religion is pretty nearly the one
thing taught. The little Turkish boys and girls are sent to these
schools at a very early age, and pay for their instruction the nominal
fee of one piastre (2¼_d._) a month. Great ceremony attends the child’s
first entrance. Its hands are dyed with henna; its head decorated with
jewels; and it is furnished with a new suit of clothes, and an expensive
bag called _Soupara_, in which the _Mus-haf_, or copy of the Koran,
is carried. The father of the child leads it to the Mekteb, where it
recites the Moslem creed to the Hodja, kisses his hand, and joins the
class. The other children, after the recital of prayers, lead the novice
home, headed by the Hodja, who chants prayers all the way along, the
children joining in the response of _Amin! Amin!_ Refreshments and ten
paras (a halfpenny) are offered to each child by the parents of the new
scholar, on receipt of which they make a rush into the street and throng
round the trays of the numerous hawkers who collect round the door on
such occasions. This ceremony is repeated on the first examination, for
which the Hodja receives £1 and a suit of linen. The teaching in these
schools was, until recently, strictly limited to lessons from the Koran.
The scholars, amounting in number sometimes to one or two hundred,
are closely packed together in a school-room which is generally the
dependence of the Mosque. Kneeling in rows, divided into tens by monitors
who superintend their lessons, they learn partly from the book and
partly by rote, all reading out the lesson at the same time, and swaying
their bodies backwards and forwards. An old Hodja, with his assistant,
sits cross-legged on a mat at one end of the room, before the chest
which serves the double purpose of desk and bookcase. With the cane of
discipline in one hand, a pipe in the other, and the Koran before him,
the old pedagogue listens to and directs the proceedings of the pupils.
Unruly children are subjected to the punishment of the cane and the
_Falakka_, a kind of wooden hobble passed over the ankle of the culprit,
who sometimes has to return home wearing this mark of disgrace. The Koran
lessons, delivered in Arabic, are gibberish to the children, unless
explained by the master; and the characters used in Koran writing are not
well adapted for teaching ordinary Turkish handwriting.

It is easily seen what ample room for improvement there is in these
establishments, where Moslems spend the best part of their childhood.
Religion, taught in every-day language, simplified and adapted to the
understanding of children, together with the rudiments of ordinary
knowledge, would lay the foundation of a wiser and more profitable system
of education than all these many years lost in poring over theological
abstractions, comprehensible glimpses of which can only be conveyed to
such young minds by the explanations of the Hodja, who is sure to dwell
upon the most dogmatic and consequently the most intolerant points of
Islam, and thus sows among the children ready-made ideas, the pernicious
seed of that fanaticism which finds its early utterance in the words
_Kafir_ and _Giaour_ (infidel), and prompts the little baby to measure
himself with his gray-bearded Christian neighbor, and in the assurance
of superior election raise his hand to cast the stone of ineradicable
contempt.

The finished scholars from these institutions may become Hodjas
themselves, acquiring, if they choose, a knowledge of writing. Such is
the system of primary education which has existed in Turkey ever since
the Conquest. Happily this century has seen some improvements, not so
much in the Mektebs as in the introduction among them of Government (so
to say, Board) Schools on improved principles.

No era of the Ottoman history presents a more dismal picture of ignorance
and incapacity than the close of the last century. The country appeared
to be crumbling to pieces; and the nation seemed lost in the two extremes
of apathy and fanaticism. Sultan Mahmoud’s sagacious mind saw wherein
the evil lay, and attempted to remedy it by establishing schools more
after the European model, and by this means spreading among his people
the liberal ideas that alone could civilize and regenerate them. The
difficulties he encountered in his praiseworthy and untiring efforts to
bring about this change were great and varied. Nevertheless, he succeeded
in establishing a few schools in the capital, which have served as bases
to those that were instituted by his son and successor Abdul-Medjid.
These latter consisted first of _Rushdiyés_, or preparatory schools,
where boys of all classes are admitted on leaving the Mektebs, and are
gratuitously taught Turkish, elementary arithmetic, the history of their
country, and geography.

Next to these establishments come the _Idadiyés_, or more advanced
preparatory schools, where boys are also admitted gratuitously, and
remain from three to five years; they are instructed in the studies
adapted to the careers they are destined to follow in the finishing
medical, military, marine, and artillery schools to which they gain
admittance on leaving the Idadiyés.

Besides these schools the capital contains some others of equal
importance, such as a school for forming professors for the Rushdiyés, a
school teaching foreign languages to some of the _employés_ of the Porte,
a forest school, and one for mechanics.

The original organization of all these institutions is said to be good,
but unfortunately the regulations are not carried out. The absence of a
proper system of control and strict discipline, a want of attention on
the part of the students, and of competence on that of the professors,
are the chief characteristics of most of them.

In addition to the educational establishments of the capital, Rushdiyés
have also been opened in all large country towns, and in some even
Idadiyés. It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to state that there are no
schools of any kind in country villages; the three R’s are there regarded
as wholly superfluous luxuries.

Had the Turks followed up more systematically the movement thus happily
begun; had it become general throughout the country, and been marked by
proper care and perseverance, many of the evils which now beset Turkey
might perhaps have been avoided. The contempt for the Christian generally
displayed by the Moslem, engendered through ignorance and fanaticism,
might have been softened into tolerance, and a more friendly feeling
might have been created between them.

Education, however, received another impetus during the administration of
Ali and Fouad Pashas, who by their united efforts succeeded in creating
new schools and slightly improving those already existing.

Most of these institutions, excepting the medical college, were formerly
open to Christian children only in name; under Ali and Fouad they became
open in reality to a few, who took their places by the side of the
Mohammedan boys.

The following is a list of the Turkish schools in the town of Salonika,
which contains about 15,000 Mohammedan inhabitants, including 2500
_Dulmés_, or Jews converted to the faith of the Prophet:—seven _Mahallé
Mektebs_, or “National” schools; one _Mekteb Rushdiyé_, or Government
school; one small private school for Turkish girls, established about
twelve mouths ago; and two special schools for the Dulmés, one for
girls and another for boys. The _Mekteb Rushdiyé_ is supported by the
Government, and has one superintendent and two masters, and is attended
by 219 children, all day pupils. Teaching is divided into four classes;
the first comprises poetry, the Turkish, Arabic, and Persian languages;
the second, logic, mathematics, elementary arithmetic, and the rudiments
of geography; the third, cosmography, Ottoman and universal history,
writing; the fourth, preparatory lessons for beginners.

The mathematical and historical teaching is very deficient, and the
whole system of instruction needs much improvement. Students on leaving
this school may enter the Harbiyé, or military school, at Monastir,
or continue their studies at the _Medressé_, where the Softas and
Ulema graduate, or may attach themselves to some Government office as
unsalaried Kyatibs, or scribes, called _Chaouch_, until a vacancy or some
other chance helps them to a lucrative post.

The Dulmés, who are found in large numbers only at Salonika, have of late
years shown a great desire to promote education among both sexes of their
small but thriving community. The course of study followed in their boys’
school is similar to that of the _Rushdiyé_, and, of course, includes the
very elementary curriculum of the National schools. It has four classes,
subdivided each into three forms; three masters, aided by monitors,
superintend the studies. I visited this school, and found a great
lack of order and discipline. First-class boys, seated on benches and
before desks, were mixed up with the little ones, who, I was told, were
placed there in order to be broken in to the school routine—a strange
arrangement, unlikely to benefit either; at least it had been better for
these mere infants to be placed in a class where lessons and exercises
suited to their years were taught. Some of the big boys were examined,
and, as far as I was able to judge, seemed well advanced in writing and
in the knowledge of the Turkish language, but they did not appear equally
well versed in mathematics or the scientific branches of study, which
were evidently taught in a very elementary form, if one might judge by
the simple questions put by the masters. This examination was concluded
by the senior boys chanting in chorus the names of the days of the week
and the months of the year! It must be borne in mind, however, that this
establishment, which is said to be the best in the town, was opened only
eighteen months ago.

With regard to the higher branches of study, I was far more edified
during an examination of the _Rushdiyé_ and _Harbiyé_ schools at
Adrianople, where some of the pupils had produced well-executed maps
and drawings, and had also distinguished themselves in mathematics;
the schools of that town seemed to be of a higher standard than those
of Salonika, although, like all Turkish schools, they left much to be
desired in good principles, refinement, and general enlightenment, to all
of which a marked disregard is universally displayed. The comparative
progress made in the above-mentioned subjects should not, however,
be considered a criterion of the cultivation of art and science in
general. In spite of the simplicity with which these various branches of
science and of art may now be taught, they are not likely to make much
advancement among the Mohammedans. These people display an astonishing
apathy and a total absence of the spirit of inquiry and research with
regard to everything. They confide the secrets of nature, to the supreme
care of Allah, and deem it superfluous to trouble themselves with such
subjects beyond the extent required for their common wants. All mental
effort is in direct opposition to the listless habits of the Turk, and,
since he is not the man to run against the will of Providence, who
fashioned his disposition, is therefore seldom attempted. Professional
men are rare among them, and such as there are can only be ranged in the
class of imitative mediocrities, who have not the genius to improve or
develop any useful branch of science.

The Dulmé girls’ school of Salonika was held in a house containing a
number of small rooms, in which the pupils were huddled together. One
of these rooms was fitted up with desks and benches that might have
accommodated about thirty children; when I entered all the pupils
were doing needlework; Shemshi Effendi, the director, a young man of
some enterprise and capacity and a good deal of intelligence, led the
way and ordered all to stand up and salaam; a lesson I hope they will
condescendingly bear in mind and practise later on in life in their
intercourse with Christians. They were learning plain sewing, crochet,
tapestry, and other ornamental work, taught by a neat-looking Greek
schoolmistress. A good many of the pupils were grown-up girls, who sat
with veils on. The master pointed them out to me, saying that most of
those young ladies were engaged to be married; “I have not, therefore,
attempted to teach them reading or writing, as they are too old to learn,
and their time here is very short, but with the little ones I hope in
time to do more.” Some of the latter were examined before me in reading,
writing, and arithmetic, in which they seemed to have got on very fairly
considering the short time they had attended the school and the utter
want of order and system prevailing in it.

The general appearance of the girls was that of negligent untidiness;
their hair was uncombed, and most of them were seated on the ground
working, with a total absence of that good breeding which was to be
expected in a well-regulated school for girls of their age and condition.

Defective as this establishment is, it is deserving of praise and
encouragement as a first attempt which may lead to a higher standard
of education among Turkish women. Perhaps some of the institutions at
Stamboul, though now greatly improved, had no higher origin. Conversing
lately about these with an intelligent Turk, I was assured that some
of the young Turkish girls had so much profited by the education
afforded in them as to have made great progress in composition and even
novel-writing, an unprecedented event in the lives of the ladies of this
nation! Some have devoted themselves to the study of French, and have
translated one or two little French works into Turkish. One of these
institutions has now become a training college for teachers, who are sent
as mistresses into other schools.

The Turkish girls’ school of Salonika is attended by forty-eight pupils,
superintended by one master, and a Greek schoolmistress for needlework.
It is hardly necessary to say that the instruction afforded is very
defective, and can be of little practical use to young girls who often,
after a few years of childhood, leave when they attain the age of ten
or eleven, just when their young minds are beginning to take in what is
taught them. However, a little is always better than nothing, and it is
to be hoped that the Salonika girls’ schools will pave the way to more
effective means of teaching.

Excepting one or two schools founded by Midhat Pasha, in the vilayet
of the Danube, no other Moslem girls’ schools but these at Stamboul
and Salonika exist in Turkey. It must be the vegetating existence of
these few establishments that has caused the flowing pen of one writer
on Bulgaria to scatter girls’ schools profusely all over the country,
placing one even in the remotest village of the Balkans; in all these
schools, according to him, girls are everywhere taught to read and write!
The statement is, unfortunately, only another proof of the accuracy of
the saying, that a thing may be too good to be true.

The foundation of the _Lyceum_ at Constantinople, decided upon in 1868,
was due to Ali and Fouad Pashas. The object of this institute was to
spread knowledge and education throughout the country, irrespective
of creed and nationality, and thus to attempt to break through the
mischievous routine of separate education, and to bring together all the
youth of Turkey with the view to establishing better relations between
the different races, creeds, and parties. The task was not an easy one.
The history of the opposition encountered by the director and professors
at the opening of the college will give a slight idea of the difficulties
and obstacles the Government itself meets with in the management of its
subjects.

One hundred and fifty purses were voted for the Lyceum, to be expended
for the benefit of all Ottoman subjects, whether Moslems, Catholic or
Gregorian Armenians, Roman Catholics, Greeks, Bulgarians, or Jews.
Foreign subjects were only admitted on the payment of fees.

It was intended to establish branches of the Lyceum in the principal
towns, but this project was soon given up. The administration, as well as
the direction of the greater part of the studies, was confided to French
functionaries, chosen by the Minister of Public Instruction in France,
subject to the approval of the Turkish Minister of the same department.
The lessons were to be given in French, and comprised literature,
history, geography, elementary mathematics, and physical science. The
Arabic, Persian, and Turkish languages were to be taught by Turkish
professors. Greek and Latin were to be taught, partly to facilitate the
acquisition of a knowledge of scientific terms, and partly because Greek
was of daily utility to the greater part of the students.

The Mohammedan religious instruction was confided to an _Imam_, but
the spirit of tolerance had gained sufficient ground in the customs
of the establishment to allow its members to practise their different
creeds at will amidst their comrades, and it is said to have been a most
interesting sight to witness their devotions.

In spite of (or rather on account of) the liberality and tolerance of
the original bases of this institute, and the constant endeavor of the
directors to accommodate these bases as much as possible to the habits
and ideas of the members of the different races there represented, none
seemed to feel the satisfaction and content that was expected. The
Mohammedans naturally demanded that the Koran laws and its exhortations
regarding prayer, ablutions, the fasting of Ramazan by day and the
feasting by night, should be respected. The Jews, rigid observers of
their traditions, rebelled against the idea of their children being
placed in an institute directed by Christians, and of their partaking
in common of food that was Tourfa, or unlawful. The Greeks followed,
complaining that their language was not sufficiently admitted into the
course of studies; and the well-to-do members of that community abstained
from sending their children there. The Roman Catholics had religious
scruples caused by a special prohibition of the Pope, and were under pain
of deprivation of the sacraments if they placed their children in an
infidel institution. Armenian pretension required that special attention
should be paid to the children belonging to that community, and the
Bulgarians demanded that a strict line should be drawn between their
children and those of the Greeks.

Next to this came the difficulty about the Day of Rest: the Turks
claiming Friday, the Jews Saturday, and the Christians Sunday; allied
to this point of dispute was that of the observance of the religious
and national festivals, all falling on different days. Even the masters
themselves, Turks, Armenians, English and French men, Greeks and
Italians, by the variety of nationalities they represented, still further
complicated the matter.

On the other hand, in a country where education is so expensive and
so difficult to obtain as it is in Turkey, there were not wanting
liberal-minded people who were willing to pass over these niceties for
the sake or the counterbalancing advantages; and at the opening of the
Lyceum, 147 Mohammedan, 48 Gregorian Armenian, 86 Greek, 34 Jew, 34
Bulgarian, 23 Roman Catholic, and 19 Armenian Catholic students applied
for admission, forming a total of 341.

At the end of two years their numbers were almost doubled, for as long
as Ali and Fouad Pashas had the direction the institution continued to
prosper and to give satisfaction to those who had placed their children
in it; but after the death of these true benefactors of Turkey everything
changed for the worse.

The French director, disgusted with the intrigues that surrounded him and
the interference he then met with in the performance of his functions,
sent in his resignation and returned to Villa Franca; and within a month
109 pupils were withdrawn.

The post of director was successively filled by men whose mismanagement
provoked so much discontent as to cause the still greater reduction in
the number of students from 640 to 382.

The following extract from an article by M. de Salve in the _Revue des
Deux Mondes_, 15th Oct., 1874, contains a pretty correct estimate of the
talent, capacity, and general good conduct of the pupils that attended
the Lyceum:

“After three years in the month of June, 1871, eight pupils of the Lyceum
received the French decree of _Bachelier des Sciences_ before a French
Commission, and in the following years similar results were obtained.

“When the starting-point is considered and the progress made reflected
upon, it will be admitted that it was impossible to foresee, or hardly to
hope, for success. The degree that was attained bears testimony to the
value and devotion of the masters as much as to the persevering industry
and good-will of the pupils. In general, the progress made in the various
branches of study, and particularly in that of the French language, and
in the imitative art, has surpassed all our hopes, and in this struggle
of emulation between pupils of such varied extractions, the most laudable
results have been accomplished.

“We should then be wrong in looking upon the Eastern races as having
become incapable of receiving a serious intellectual culture, and
condemning them to final and fatal inaction. It may be interesting
to know which nationalities have produced the most intelligent and
best-conducted pupils. In these respects the Bulgarians have always held
the first rank, and after them the Armenians, then the Turks and Jews,
and lastly, I regret to say, the Roman Catholics. The Greeks, in addition
to some good characters, presented a great many bad ones.”

The supremacy of the Bulgarians is a fine augury for the coming state of
things; and that the Greeks and Roman Catholics should not have greatly
distinguished themselves need not surprise us; for all the children of
the better classes of these communities are educated in schools kept by
professors of their own persuasion. One of the reasons why the Lyceum
has been abandoned by the majority of the Christian pupils is its
removal to Stamboul, which made it very difficult for their children to
attend, together with the radical changes which have taken place in its
administration and in the tone, which has now become quite Turkish.

In describing the improvements effected by Ali and Fouad Pashas upon
the old Moslem Mekteb, we have been led away from the other primeval
Moslem institution, the _Medressé_, or Mosque College. These Medressés,
supported by the funds of the mosques to which they are attached, are
the universities where the Softas and Ulema, and lower down the Imams
and Kyatibs, study, and, so to speak, graduate. The subjects taught are
much the same as in the Medressés of other Mohammedan countries. Language
and theology are the main things in the eye of the Ulema (or Dons) of a
Medressé. Language means grammar, rhetoric, poetry, calligraphy, and what
not, in Arabic, and (though less essentially) in Persian and Turkish.
Theology includes the interpretation of the Koran and traditions; and
when we have said that we have said enough for one lifetime, as every
one knows who knows anything of Arab commentators and traditionists and
recommentators and traditionists commentated. Theology, it should however
be added, of course includes Moslem law, since both are bound together
in the Koran and the traditions of Mohammed. It may easily be conceived
that the instruction in these Medressés was and is always of a stiff
conservative sort, not likely to advance in any great degree the cause
of general enlightenment in Turkey. Still, since all the scholars and
statesmen of the country were, until quite lately, invariably educated at
the Medressés, it cannot be denied that they have done service in their
time. Whatever historians, poets, or literary men Turkey can boast of
more than a generation back, to the Medressés be the credit! In the case
of statesmen the result of this training has not always been very happy.
It is not satisfactory to know that in quite recent times a Minister of
Public Instruction (of the old school), sitting upon a commission for
looking into the state of the schools of Turkey, on being shown some maps
and some mathematical problems executed by the pupils, appeared entirely
ignorant of their meaning, and exclaimed, “Life of me! Mathematics,
geography, this, that, and the other, what use is such rubbish to us?”

Now, however, the highest classes send their sons to Paris and elsewhere
to be educated. The effect of this training upon La Jeune Turquie I have
already noticed. In some cases it must, nevertheless, be admitted that
the Turk educated in Europe has really made good use of his time, and has
raised himself, as near as his nature permits, to the level of the more
civilized nations he has associated with.

Such is the general state of education in Turkey. Brought up, first by an
ignorant mother, then by the little less ignorant Hodja of the Mekteb,
or, in rarer cases, by the well-meaning but still incompetent masters of
the Government schools, it is not surprising that the ordinary Turk is
crafty, ignorant, and correspondingly fanatical. Yet dark as the present
position is, it is better than it was a few years ago. The efforts of
Ali and Fouad Pashas have certainly given education a forward impulse.
The advance has been slow, but it has been forward, not backward. In
this advance the Turks have shared far less than the subject races.
Were things as they were two years ago, this could hardly be taken as a
hopeful sign; but, looking at it from the opposite point of view, that
the Bulgarians and Greeks have advanced more than the Turks, it must be
admitted, in the new arrangement of the provinces now negotiating, that
the fact carries a bright ray of hope.




CHAPTER XIX.

EDUCATION AMONG THE GREEKS AND BULGARIANS.

    The Turkish Conquest and Greek Schools—Monasteries
    almost the sole Preservers of Letters—Movement of
    the last Half-Century—Athenian Teaching and Its
    Influence on Turkey—Education of the Greeks at
    Constantinople—Μνημόσυνα—Salonika Girls’ Schools—Boys’
    Schools—A Greek School based upon Mr. Herbert Spencer—The Past
    and the Present of the Greeks—_Bulgarian_ Ignorance—Birth
    of a Desire for Knowledge—A Report from a Bulgarian Young
    Lady—The First Bulgarian Book—Bulgarian Authors—Schools—Church
    Supervision—Loyalty to the Sultan—Bulgarian
    Language—Schoolmasters and their Reforming Influence—Bulgarian
    Intelligence—American Missionaries.


It was not to be expected that the immense progress made by Greece
during the past half century in education would exercise no influence
upon the Greeks in Turkey. The people of the kingdom of Greece, secure
of their own freedom, released from that servile condition to which
centuries of oppressive misrule had reduced them, and become citizens of
a liberty-loving country, have for the past twenty years been using every
effort to promote the cause of liberty by the spread of education among
their brethren still in subjection to the Porte. When the Turks conquered
the Greek provinces, they did their best to extinguish education among
their Christian subjects: the Greek schools were suppressed, new ones
prohibited, and the Greek children had to be taught during the night.[36]
But the monasteries, nests of ignorance and vice as they were, were the
principal refuges of letters. Scattered all over the empire, they enjoyed
the privileges drawn from the special liberty and favor granted by the
wise Sultan to the Greek clergy. This was done by the Sultan with the
view of acquiring unlimited control over the Greek rayahs, by giving
a just sufficient amount of power to a small but influential body of
men, to induce them to support his designs. Mount Athos, one of these
privileged asylums, became a famous resort of the retired clergy. A
college of some merit was also established on this monastic spot for
affording secular instruction to Greek youths. At Phanar, the secluded
refuge of the Greek noblesse, in right of their privileges, education
among the higher classes was promoted. For a long time this was the only
place Constantinople could boast as supplying men of letters, some of
whom, being conversant with foreign languages, were employed in European
embassies as interpreters. Within the last fifty years the educational
movement among the Greeks of Turkey has altered its course. Some schools
established in the country afforded elementary instruction to the
children, but, for the most part, they were now sent to Athens and Syra
to complete their studies, where numerous schools and colleges afforded
them the means of acquiring a perfect knowledge of their own language
and a tolerably good general education. This migration, perseveringly
continued for nearly thirty years, increased the number of these Athenian
and Syraote establishments, and the pecuniary benefit they derived from
it enabled them to perfect their organization. Politics and learning
were two essential elements of education, which the modern Greeks uphold
with a tenacity worthy of final success. The young Greek rayah, sent
to Athens, returns to his home a scholar and a staunch Philhellene,
burning with an all-absorbing desire to instil his ideas and feelings
into the minds of his fellow rayahs. Such currents flow slowly but surely
among a population that, debased as it may be by a foreign yoke, has a
history and literature of its own to look back to. The first students
returning from Greece were the pioneers of the immense progress that
education has lately made among the Greeks in Turkey. None can realize
and testify to this better than those who have watched its introduction
and development in the interior. As I stated in another part of this
work, even the élite of the Greek society of Broussa thirty years ago
had lost the use of their mother-tongue, replacing it by broken Turkish.
Since then, the introduction of schools has been the means of restoring
the use of their own language to the great majority of the people, though
one portion of the town is still ignorant of it, in consequence of the
profitable occupation the silk factories afford to girls, who are sent
there from a very early age, instead of going to school. The inhabitants
of the surrounding villages, in all of which Greek schools have now been
established, have learnt their national language—a proof that although
the general attention of the Greeks has naturally first been directed to
promoting education in Thessaly, Macedonia, and Epirus, the scattered
colonies left on the Asiatic side have not been altogether forgotten or
neglected; they have now good colleges in Smyrna, and schools in less
important towns and villages.

The Greek village of Demerdesh, between Broussa and the seaport Moudania,
merits special praise for the wonderful progress, both mental and
material, it has made. It is refreshing to see the intelligent features
of the inhabitants of this village, and their independent and patriotic
disposition. One thinks involuntarily of some of the ancient Greek
colonies that from small beginnings rose to great power and created for
themselves a noble history.

At Constantinople the Greeks possess several rapidly improving
educational establishments for both sexes. The Syllogus, too, a literary
association for the promotion of learning, has been lately instituted
in all the large towns of Turkey. Some years ago I was travelling with
the head mistress of the girls’ school at Epibatæ, in the district
of Silivri, near Constantinople—an institution which owes its origin
and maintenance to the generosity and philanthropy of Doctor Sarente
Archegenes, a native of the place, who, having acquired just reputation
and wealth in the capital, did not forget his native village, but
furnished the means for building and maintaining a school for girls in
1796. This mistress was a clever and well-educated lady from Athens, and
she described to me her pleasure at the quickness displayed by these
peasant girls in their studies. The only drawback, she remarked, to this
work of progress is the absence of a similar establishment for the boys,
who, all charcoal-burners by trade, ignorant and uncouth, are rejected
as husbands by the more privileged sex. I believe since then the evil
has been removed by the establishment of a boys’ school. How much more
beneficial to humanity was the establishment of these institutions than
that of the one founded by Mehemet Ali Pasha of Egypt at Cavalla, his
native place. Desiring to benefit his country with some of the wealth
acquired in Egypt, he requested the people of Cavalla to choose between a
school and a charitable establishment or _Imaret_: the former was meant
to impart light and civilization among them, the latter to furnish an
abode for fanatical Softas, and daily rations of pilaf and bread for
three hundred individuals. The Cavalla Turks did not hesitate between the
mental and material food; and shortly after a substantial edifice was
erected, its perpetual income helping to maintain a number of indolent
persons within its walls, and feed the refuse of the population that
lazily lounged about outside, waiting for the ready food that rendered
labor unnecessary.

The wealthy Greek families at Constantinople are now giving special
attention to the education of their children; the girls appear, more
especially, to have profited by it, for the Greek ladies, as a class,
are clever, well-informed, and good linguists, well bred and extremely
pleasant in the intimacy of their social circles. Most of them are
musicians, as the phrase is, some even attaining to excellence. A French
lady told me she had heard a French ambassador state as his opinion that
the best and most enlightened society in the capital was the Greek; but
it was so exclusive that an easy admission into it was a privilege not to
be enjoyed even by an ambassador. I may state that my personal experience
allows me to coincide with this view. The men, absorbed in business, and
perhaps still bearing the _cachet_ of some of those faults that prejudice
is ever ready to seize upon and exaggerate, are less refined and
agreeable in society than the women. Gifted men, however, and men of a
high standard of moral integrity and good faith, are not rare among them;
and the munificence of such men as Messrs Zarifi, Christaki, Zographo,
Baron Sina, and many others, in encouraging the advancement of education,
and helping in the relief of the poor in time of want and distress, has
entitled them to the gratitude of their nation.

Some time ago I was invited to attend the μνημόσυνα, an anniversary at
the girls’ school at Salonika, in remembrance of its chief benefactress
Kyria Castrio. A large cake, iced and decorated with various devices,
was placed on a table facing the portrait of this lady, which, garlanded
with flowers, appeared to look on smilingly and contentedly, encircled
by a ring of young girls. The room was densely crowded with guests and
the relatives of the children. Presently a great bustle was heard, and
the crowd opened to give passage to the dignified, intellectual-looking
Bishop, accompanied by his clergy, who quietly walked up to the cake,
and read mass over it for the benefit of the soul of the departed lady.
This ceremony concluded, he amiably shook hands with some of the company
nearest to him, and took his seat at the rostrum used for lectures. It
was now the turn of the young girls to express their gratitude to the
memory of her to whose kind thought and generosity they owed in great
part the education they were receiving. This was conveyed in a hymn
composed for the occasion, and rendered with much feeling and expression,
under the able direction of a young German master, who, for the love
of the art in general, and the Greek nation in particular, had kindly
undertaken to give free lessons in vocal music to the girls. Some of the
elder girls looked very pretty, and all seemed bright and intelligent.
The little ones, mustering in a company of two hundred, were next marched
up in a double row, clasping each other round the waist. It was a pretty
sight to see these little mites assembled round the chair of the paternal
Bishop, keeping time with their feet to the tune, and singing their
little hymn. This interesting ceremony was concluded by a long lecture,
from one of the masters of the establishment, delivered in Greek. The
profound attention with which all listened to it was a proof that it was
understood and appreciated. These Mnemosyné are held annually in many
towns, and even in secluded villages, in memory of charitable persons who
have founded or largely endowed their schools.

While on the subject of the Salonika girls’ school, I may as well go on
with it, and describe its organization, the course of studies followed
in it, and the immense benefit it has proved to the community. Tedious
as such a description is, it may be useful in giving an idea of the
many other similar institutions scattered throughout the country. The
building, formerly I believe a Turkish Konak, is in itself rather
dilapidated: it consists of two spacious halls, into which open a number
of class-rooms.

I inspected the classes, and was much pleased to find that the teachers
ably and conscientiously fulfilled their duties, and that the pupils
apparently did them great credit. The following is a list of the subjects
taught by a lady principal and two professors:

                             UPPER DIVISION.

    I. Greek.—Translations of ancient Greek authors and poets, with
    explanations, grammatical analysis, and composition.

    II. Catechism, with due theological instruction.

    III. History of Greece.

    IV. Mathematics, including mathematical and geometrical
    geography.

    V. Psychology.

    VI. Παιδαγωγία.

    VII. Plain and fancy needlework.

    VIII. Vocal music.

    IX. Physics.

                            MIDDLE DIVISION.

      (Taught by lady principal, one mistress, and one professor.)

    I. Greek and Greek writers.

    II. Sacred history, and explanations of the Gospels.

    III. Mathematics.

    IV. Natural history.

    V. Political and physical geography.

    VI. Universal history.

    VII. Calligraphy.

    VIII. Needlework and vocal music.

                             LOWER DIVISION.

           (Taught by six mistresses and four pupil teachers.)

    I. Greek.—Reading, writing, modern Greek grammar, with
    explanations of modern Greek authors.

    II. Sacred history and catechism.

    III. Greek history.

    IV. Arithmetic.

    V. Natural history.

    VI. Political geography, needlework, and calligraphy.

The infant schools contained two hundred scholars, who were seated on a
gallery; four pupil teachers, two on each side, were keeping order, and
the mistress was giving the lesson of the day, illustrating it by one
of the many colored pictures that decorated the walls of the apartment.
The lesson, explained by the teacher, is repeated by the children in
chorus, who are afterwards questioned. The system followed in this school
appears to me the most successful and appropriate way of teaching young
children, whose minds, impressed by the object-lessons, and diverted by
the variety of the exercises they are made to perform, are better able to
understand and retain the knowledge imparted to them. A lady, recently
arrived from Europe, who takes a great interest in schools, told me that
few establishments of this kind in Europe could boast of better success.

The rudiments of the following lessons are taught: Reading; elementary
geography; history; moral lessons; object-lessons; infantile songs and
games.

During our visit to the girls’ school we stopped before each class,
and a few girls were called out and examined by the master or mistress
presiding over their studies. All these girls were intelligent in
appearance, seemed well conversant with the subject in question, and were
ready with their answers. Arithmetic and mathematics generally were the
only branches of study in which they appeared deficient; but on the whole
the instruction (unfortunately limited to the Greek language for want of
funds) is excellent. The needlework, both plain and ornamental, is copied
from models brought from Paris, and the girls show as much skill in this
department as they do aptitude for study in others.

I questioned the directress on the general conduct and morality of
the girls, and she gave me the best account of both. No distinction
is made between the rich and poor; they sit side by side in the same
class, a custom which, in countries where education is more developed,
would be intolerable, but which, for the present, in a place where
class distinctions are not so great, tends to improve the manners of
the lower without prejudice to those of the upper. The opinion of the
schoolmistress was, that the girls of Salonika, whilst more docile and
more easily managed, were not less intelligent than the Athenian girls,
whose more independent spirit often occasioned trouble in the schools.

From this establishment has been formed a training school for girls
who wish to become school-mistresses; six professors instruct in the
following subjects:

    I. Greek.

    II. Universal history.

    III. Mathematics (including arithmetic and geometry).

    IV. Physics, geology, and anthropology.

    V. Philosophy, psychology, παιδαγωγία.

    VI. Vocal, instrumental, and theoretical music.

    VII. Gymnastics and calligraphy.

    VIII. Explanations of the Gospels.

Seven female students obtained their diplomas this year (1877), and were
sent into the interior, where in their turn they will be called upon to
impart light and knowledge to the girls of some little town or village.

During my travels I have often come across these provincial schools,
and found much pleasure in conversing with the ladylike, modest young
Athenian women, who had left home and country to give their teaching
and example to their less-favored sisters in Turkey. I remember feeling
a special interest in two of these, whom I found established in a
flourishing Greek village in a mountainous district of Macedonia.

I was invited into their little parlor, adjoining the school. It was
plain but very neat, and the scantiness of the furniture was more than
atoned for by the quantity of flowers and the many specimens of their
clever handiwork. The Chorbadji’s wives, some of them wealthy, doted upon
these girls, who were generally looked up to and called Kyria (lady);
each wife vying with the other in copying the dresses and manners of
these phenomenal beings transplanted into their mountain soil. The
children, too, seemed devoted to their teachers, and delighted in the
instruction given them, while the men of the village showed them all
respect, and seemed to pride themselves on the future benefit their
daughters and sisters would derive from the teachings and good influence
of these ladies.

Having sufficiently enlarged upon the education of the girls of Salonika,
I will now pass on to that of the boys, which is far more advanced.

The highest school for boys is called the Gymnasium. It contains four
classes, in which six professors teach the following subjects:

    I. Greek: translation of Greek poetry and prose, with analysis
    and commentary, grammatical and geographical, historical,
    archæological, etc.

    II. Latin: translations from Latin authors and poets, with
    analysis.

    III. Scripture lessons: catechism, with theological analysis
    and explanations.

    IV. Mathematics: theoretical arithmetic, geometry, algebra, and
    trigonometry.

    V. Natural science, comprising the study of geology,
    anthropology, physiology, and cosmography.

    VI. History: universal, and more especially Greek.

    VII. Philosophy, psychology, and logic.

    VIII. French grammar, exercises and translations from the best
    French authors.

The next Greek school contains three classes, in which three masters
teach the following lessons:

    I. Greek, in all its branches.

    II. Sacred lessons, history, and catechism.

    III. Mathematics, practical arithmetic, and geometry.

    IV. Natural history.

    V. Political geography.

    VI. Universal history.

In the middle school of this same town there are four classes, each
subdivided into two; five masters teach the following lessons:

    I. Greek: reading, writing, modern Greek grammar; and
    explanations of modern Greek authors.

    II. Sacred history and catechism.

    III. History of Greece.

    IV. Mathematics and practical arithmetic.

    V. Natural history.

    VI. Political geography.

    VII. Vocal music and gymnastics.

How often, when witnessing the perseverance and energy displayed in
promoting education among the Greeks and Bulgarians, have I heartily
wished that some more of the funds given by our philanthropists for the
purposes of conversion could find their way into the educational channel,
and help to stimulate its progress!

Conversing on this subject with an intelligent American missionary,
settled amongst the Bulgarians, I was told that the missionaries found
it hard to work upon the ignorant and prejudiced, who distrust them and
do not listen willingly to their teaching. The schoolmasters, the most
enlightened among the people, alone comprehend and appreciate their
object. He said, “Could we help these people to help themselves through
their own schools by contributing to their support, our work would
prosper far better. Education, destroying prejudice and superstition,
would pave the way to a simpler form of worship; and those who really
wish to benefit ignorant humanity in a sensible and effective manner
ought to direct their efforts towards the propagation of education,
which would finally lead to the end they have in view.”

I also visited another Greek school at Salonika, which was under the
direction of a Greek gentleman educated in Germany, who has designed a
new educational system which, having had a fair trial, will eventually be
adopted in all the educational establishments of the Greeks. The origin
of this institution does not date further back than two years, and of
all the schools I have visited here and elsewhere, this certainly struck
me as being the best and the most perfect of its kind. The children
were divided into classes, each of which was examined by the master,
the result of which greatly surprised myself and some friends who were
present. The director, who justly took great pride in his work, assured
us that all these boys under his care (whose ages did not exceed eleven)
in consequence of the quickness, facility, and ability with which they
received his instructions, had learnt in one year what he had been unable
to teach in double that space of time to children in Germany. He added
that he was constantly called upon to answer a shower of questions and
remarks made by the pupils upon the theme of the lesson, which, having
explained, he allows them time and liberty to discuss the difficult
points, until they had quite mastered them. On their first entrance
they appear listless and uninterested, but as the love of knowledge is
developed and grows upon them, they often, when school time is up, beg
permission to remain an hour longer in class.

The youngest were first examined in reading. They read fluently from
Homer, and translated into modern Greek from chance pages left for
us to choose. While the director was dwelling on some meteorological
subject, one little mite of six lifted up its finger and said, “I noticed
that the sky was very cloudy yesterday, and yet it did not rain, may I
explain why?” Permission was at once given, and he enlightened us on the
subject. All the questions put to the senior boys in mathematics and
natural science were responded to with great promptitude and with a clear
knowledge of what they referred to. The dog was the subject chosen for
the lesson on zoology. The answers to the questions put on the variety of
the species, and the different characteristics that distinguished them,
were given with an exactness that showed how well the subject had been
explained and understood. Scenes from Greek mythology, orally taught, had
been learnt by heart, and were well retained by the pupils, who are said
to display great interest in the classic selections, which they act in
an admirable manner; the piece chosen for recital in our presence was a
selection from the Iphigenia in Tauris of Euripides.

In answer to our inquiries on the conduct and natural disposition of his
pupils, the master said both were good, although not free from faults,
which he however felt confident would in time be eradicated by proper
care and attention. When they first come they are apt to be untruthful:
a vice I suppose they acquire, together with other bad habits, in the
streets, where they are unfortunately allowed to associate with children
who have received no education. Very much pleased with all I had seen and
heard in this establishment, I begged the director to let me have one
of the class-books containing the routine of teaching. He replied that
he had no special work on the subject to abide by, and that the routine
of the lessons, left to his own judgment, had been combined by him
partly from the system he had studied in Germany, and partly from ideas
suggested to him by reading the philosophical works of Herbert Spencer,
for which he appeared to have a great admiration.

Few subjects, I think, are more worthy of attention than the march of
progress among nations which, perhaps from causes beyond their own
control, have long remained stationary. I asked a Greek gentleman, a
short time since, what was the difference between the present and the
last generation; what were the distinguishing characteristics of each,
and what the advantages of the actual over the two preceding it. He
replied that the first was ignorant and despotic; fortune, rather than
merit, establishing the personal influence of the individual. When
this influence was due to official favoritism, it was seldom honestly
acquired, and rarely beneficial to others. The fortunes, too, if made in
the country, would not stand very close inspection, for the system of
money-making in Turkey is of so elastic a nature that it has to be pulled
many ways, drawn and quartered, before the honest capitalist can call
the money his own. The ladies of the past generation, though good and
matronly, had received no education, and consequently could not afford
to their children the moral support that the children of the present day
are beginning to enjoy. The mothers taught their daughters to be pious
and honest, and instructed them in household management and needlework,
giving them at the same time a very limited supply of elementary
teaching; any further education, up to a recent date, was considered
a superfluous accomplishment for girls. The fathers had begun to pay
more attention to the education of their sons, but this education was
of a peculiar character; some of these boys, when even sent to foreign
colleges to complete their studies, on returning home, were allowed
neither the liberty of action nor the freedom of thought that they were
entitled to by their superior education.

When these studies opened no particular career to them, the youths were
generally called upon to follow the father’s trade or profession in a
monotonous routine often distasteful to the more spirited young men,
who could not break through the restraint without rebelling against the
paternal authority. This check often led to disobedience and desertion.
The independent youth would seek elsewhere a calling more adapted to his
taste; many of these young men, starting with no resources but their
brains, have been known to realize great fortunes. The rest of them,
married to wives generally chosen for them by their parents, continue to
live docilely under the paternal roof, showing every mark of deference to
their father’s will,—the absolute law of the house.

All that is now changed; the present generation is far more active and
free-thinking. Those who have had the advantages of education are no
longer the dreaded despots of their homes, but the companions of their
wives and the friends of their children, who, thanks to the privileges
they enjoy in this respect, find their way to a free exchange of ideas
and feelings with their parents. Many openings are now afforded to
youths, who are consulted on the subject, and are free to follow the
career they may choose. Should this be commercial, they are no longer, as
formerly, the employés of their fathers, but partners with them, sharing
the responsibilities and the profits of the business.

Good principles and morality are said to have made great progress among
the rising generation, which in all respects is considered by careful
observers to be far superior to, and promising to wipe away some of the
faults of, their ancestors in modern times. Dishonesty is one of the
evils generally attributed to the Greek character. Considering the long
experience I have had of this country, the close contact into which I
have been brought with all degrees of the Greek community, I cannot in
justice admit this to be the rule. In my dealings with tradespeople,
I have never found them worse than their neighbors belonging to other
nationalities, nor can I say that I have often detected dishonesty in
Greek servants, whilst to their devotion and good services I owe much of
the comfort of a well-served house.

The nation of the Greeks is earnestly taken up with remodelling itself
through the salutary means of education; it has made great progress, and
cannot fail to fit itself for the prominent part it has to play in the
destinies of South-eastern Europe.

At no epoch of the history of the Bulgarians does their dormant intellect
appear to have produced any works of art or genius. This conclusion
is arrived at by the absence of any proof of an anterior Bulgarian
civilization in the form of literature or monuments. Without personal
traditions, they know nothing of their past; and to learn something
of it, are forced to consult the Byzantine and Slavonic authors. What
civilization they possessed was also borrowed from the Slavs and
Byzantines, with whom they lived in close contact. In comparing the
national songs, their only literature, with those of the above-mentioned
nations, we are led to conclude that the Bulgarians remained equally
impervious to the softer and more elevating influence of the Greeks,
and to the warlike and independent spirit of the Servians and other
Slav populations, by whom they were surrounded. Having imbibed only to
a slight extent the civilization of their time, they must, after the
Ottoman conquest, through oppression and neglect, have forgotten the
little they once possessed, and submitted to the life of perpetual toil
and hardship which they have for centuries endured.

These peacefully disposed and hard-working peasants, however, though
devoid of learning, deprived of national history, and cut off from the
means of improvement, lack neither intelligence, perseverance, nor
desire for instruction. We find the indications of this tendency in some
of their somewhat disconnected and often uncouth national songs and
ballads, which breathe a true love of country life, and illustrate the
slow progress of their art, by eulogizing the slight innovations in their
agricultural implements. Many of their ballads set forth the brave deeds
of their few heroes, illustrate the past glory of their kingdom, lament
its downfall, or endeavor to account for its misfortunes.[37]

These timid utterances of an undeveloped people are simple narratives
of past incidents, whose relation is heightened neither by the spirit
of revenge for wrongs, nor yet by hope for a brighter future. These,
the only heritage of their ancestors, the Bulgarians treasure in their
hearts, and at moments of joy and exhilaration or suffering, chant them
to the accompaniment of the _guzla_, an instrument of three chords, whose
monotonous sounds harmonize well with the shrill or plaintive airs in
which utterance is given to their sentiments.

The blow aimed at the Bulgarian Church a little more than a century ago
fell with equal weight upon the schools, which, though neither numerous
nor effective, were nevertheless most valuable to the people, as the last
depositories of their national tongue. These establishments, though the
use of the Bulgarian language was formally abolished in them by the Greek
Patriarch, still remained scattered all over Bulgaria, and, directed by
the priests, enabled the Bulgarians, during the revival of the Church
question, to make use of them as foundations for the more important
and solid erections that have subsequently risen over them. The sudden
manifestation of a desire for instruction and national improvement in
Bulgaria is one of the most extraordinary phenomena I have had occasion
to notice in the East.

Education at the time of the commencement of this movement was a
privilege possessed by the very small section of the nation who were able
to seek it in foreign countries. The townspeople studied but little,
and the teaching in their schools comprised the Greek language, together
with a few general notions: while the bulk of the population in the rural
districts were left in entire ignorance. Those who wished for a more
complete education, without leaving their country, had recourse to the
higher Greek schools, in spite of the antipathy that existed between the
two races.

I had written to a Bulgarian gentleman requesting some information upon
the state of education in his country, but, unfortunately, the time
at which I made this request did not allow him to meet my demand, and
his daughter, a clever and accomplished young lady, undertook the task
instead. The following is part of her first letter on the subject:

    “CHÈRE MADAME: Mon père m’a dit que vous désiriez avoir
    quelques renseignements relativement à l’instruction en
    Bulgarie: une statistique des écoles, je crois. Comme il est
    très-occupé dans ce moment, il m’a chargé de vous fournir le
    peu de renseignements que nous possédons à ce sujet. J’ai
    donc recueilli tout ce qui a été publié jusqu’à présent par
    rapport aux écoles; mais malheureusement tout cela n’est que
    fort incomplet. Je me suis donc adressée aux evêques, espérant
    obtenir d’eux des informations plus exactes, et surtout plus
    complètes, et quelques uns d’eux m’ont promis de m’envoyer des
    statistiques des écoles dans leurs éparchies. Quant à l’origine
    de ce mouvement de la nation Bulgare vers la lumière, on n’en
    sait pas grand’chose. Tout ce que je pourrais vous dire à ce
    sujet n’est que les premières manifestations, faisant présager
    le reveil de cette nation à la vie, datent du commencement de
    ce siècle. Déjà en 1806 apparait le premier livre publié en
    langue Bulgare; l’année 1819 on voit paraître deux autres, et
    depuis ce temps chaque année apporte son contingent, quoique
    bien maigre encore, à ce petit trésor, qui s’amasse goutte
    à goutte. Quel rêve avait fait tressaillir ce peuple dans
    cette torpeur où il était plongé et qui avait toutes les
    apparences d’une léthargie devant durer éternellement? Etait-ce
    un souvenir instantané du passé? Une espérance subite d’un
    avenir moins sombre? Car, l’époque est assez loin encore où
    cette agglomeration de peuples, dont il fait partie, va venir
    en contact avec l’Europe civilisée et en subir l’influence.
    Quelque intéressante que serait l’explication de ce phénomène,
    on est obligé néanmoins de se contenter de conjectures. La
    tâche de l’historien qui essayerait d’élaircir ce point est
    tout aussi difficile que celle du philosophe qui cherche à
    de décrire le travail operé dans l’âme de l’enfant avançant
    progressivement à la lumière des nouvelles notions. Dans tous
    les deux cas, l’individu, dans lequel s’opére ce travail et
    qui pourtant est le plus à même d’en observer la marche,
    est, par sa faiblesse même, incapable d’en juger; il subit
    passivement, et c’est tout. Cependant cette période si obscure
    de notre vie nationale nous a légué trois noms bien brillants.
    Je veux parler du père Paisiy, qui, vers la fin du dernier
    siècle écrivait une histoire de la Bulgarie et quelques
    autres ouvrages; de Stoiko Vladislavoff (1739-1815), plus
    tard connu sous le nom de Sofraniy, qui écrivit près d’une
    vingtaine d’ouvrages dont quelques uns n’existent plus; et
    enfin de Néophite Bogvely, dont un des ouvrages, intitulé ‘Mati
    Bolgaria’ (Mère Bulgarie), est d’une actualité si frappante
    qu’on le croirait écrit hier. C’est un dialogue entre une mère
    et son fils dans lequel ils déplorent l’état de la patrie et
    recherchent les causes de ses malheurs. La mère se demande
    comment, malgré les immunités accordées aux Chrétiens et la
    promulgation de tant de bonnes lois, le sort de ces derniers
    ne se trouve pas amélioré; alors le fils la fait attention à
    la manière dont les lois sont appliquées. On ne parlerait pas
    autrement aujourd’hui! Observons en outre que tous les trois
    parlent du joug phanariote comme d’une des principales causes
    des malheurs de la Bulgarie. Ceci montre que reveil de l’esprit
    national chez les Bulgares n’est point, comme quelques uns
    aiment à le faire croire, un mouvèment factice dû à quelques
    individus. C’est dans l’histoire de ces trois hommes, qui, dans
    des circonstances plus favorables auraient infailliblement été
    de veritables flambeaux pour leur nation et peut-être pour
    l’humanité—c’est dans leur histoire, dis-je, qu’il faudrait
    chercher une partie des causes de la régénération de la nation
    Bulgare.

    “Vous voudriez savoir l’époque à laquelle la première école
    fut fondée en Bulgarie. Il semble que de tout temps de petites
    aient existé où le prêtre enseignait aux enfants à lui, et
    où la limite suprême de la science était atteinte quand on
    parvenait à griffoner son nom. Mais la première école un peu
    plus digne de ce nom a été fondée à Gabrova vers l’an 1835.
    Kopriochtitza, Kalofer, Bazardjik, Sopote, suivirent bientôt
    cet exemple. La première école Bulgare à Philippopolis fut
    fondée en 1867. Je pourrais vous envoyer avec les statistiques
    les programmes de quelques unes des principales écoles....”

I regret to say that subsequent events unfortunately prevented my
obtaining all the hoped-for information on this subject. I can therefore
only present an incomplete description of the work of education in
Bulgaria.

The schools opened at Gabrova, Kalofer, Sapote, and subsequently at
Philippopolis, were the precursors of those that by degrees spread
in all directions, entering every nook where a Bulgarian settlement
existed; ten years were sufficient to augment the small number of
original establishments to the following number that existed in Bulgaria
previously to the desolation that befell that unfortunate country.

In the province of Philippopolis there were 305 primary schools, 15
superior schools, with 356 teachers and 12,400 scholars; 27 girls’
schools, with 37 teachers and 2265 pupils. The Tuna vilayet, equally
endowed, was also in a fair way of improvement, and the Bulgarian youth
there, though less advanced than in the district of Philippopolis, were
beginning to rival their brethren on the other side of the Balkans.

The lessons taught in the gymnasium at Philippopolis comprise the
Turkish, Greek, and French languages, elementary mathematics, geography,
Bulgarian and Turkish history, mental and moral philosophy, religious and
moral instruction, and church music.

All these larger establishments, most of which I visited, were fine
spacious edifices; some of them were formerly large old mansions, others
were specially erected for schools.

Up to the year 1860 the schools in Bulgaria owed their creation and
maintenance to voluntary subscriptions and to funds bequeathed by
charitable individuals. But these funds were small compared with the
demand made by the people for the extension and development of their
educational institutions. At the separation of their Church from that of
Constantinople, they reappropriated the revenues, which were placed under
the direction of a number of men chosen from each district, and a part
of them was set aside for the purposes of education. These first steps
towards a systematic organization of the Church and schools were followed
by the appointment of a mixed commission of clerical and lay members,
annually elected in each district, charged with the immediate direction
of the local ecclesiastical department. Each commission acts separately
and independently of the other, but is answerable to the community at
large for the supervision and advancement of public instruction. A
further innovation in the shape of supplying funds for the increasing
demand for schools of a higher class was made by the Bulgarians of
Philippopolis by contriving to persuade the authorities of that place
to allow a tax to be levied on each male Bulgarian of 52 paras (about
2½_d._), by means of which they are enabled to improve and maintain
their excellent _gymnasium_. When I visited these establishments, most
of them were in their infancy. Bulgarian fathers, with genuine pride and
joy, gladly led their sons to the new national schools, telling them to
become good men, remain devoted to their nation, and pray for the Sultan.
Exaggerated and unnatural as this feeling may appear in the face of
late events, it was nevertheless genuine among the Bulgarians in those
days. Russian influence had not made itself felt at that time, nor were
the intellects of the poor ignorant Bulgarians sufficiently developed
to enable them to entertain revolutionary notions or plot in the dark
to raise the standard of rebellion. Entirely absorbed at that moment in
the idea of obtaining the independence of their Church and promoting
education, they were grateful to their masters for the liberty allowed
them to do more than they had presumed to expect.

During the reign of Sultan Abdul-Aziz the sentiment of loyalty of the
subject races towards their ruler diverged into two widely distinct
paths. Among the Bulgarians this devotion originated in the intense
ignorance and debasement to which centuries of bondage had reduced them:
with the Greeks, after the creation of free Hellas, there existed a
well-grounded confidence in themselves, a clear insight into the future,
and the patience to keep quiet and wait for their opportunity. The
Bulgarians were loyal because they knew no better; the Greeks because
their time was not yet come. They knew the truth, “Tout vient à point à
qui sait attendre.” If the minds of the Bulgarians subsequently became
more alive to their actual situation and they listened to revolutionary
suggestions, it was due to the teaching they had obtained from their
schools and from the national ideas instilled into their minds by the
priests and schoolmasters. This teaching was not always derived from
books, for these were rare and precious objects not easy to obtain.
Moreover, the difference between the written and spoken language is so
great that the former can scarcely be understood by the bulk of the
population. The original Hunnish tongue, absorbed by the Slavonic dialect
that succeeded it, has preserved but little of the primitive unwritten
idiom; and even the adopted one that replaced it gradually took in so
great a number of Turkish, Greek, Servian, and other foreign words as to
make the Bulgarian vernacular scarcely analogous with the more polished
language now taught in the schools. Even in Philippopolis some years
ago the Bulgarian ladies had great difficulty in understanding the
conversation of the ladies belonging to the American mission, who had
learnt the written language and spoke it with great purity. The modern
Bulgarian is based upon the Slav, and although differing considerably
from the Russian Slav language, the two nations have no great difficulty,
after a little practice, in comprehending each other. No less than seven
Bulgarian grammars are in existence, all written during the last fifteen
years; but they agree neither in the general principles nor in the
details. Some entirely disregard the popular idiom, and impose the rules
of modern Russian or Servian on the language. Others attempt to reduce to
rules the vernacular, which is variable, vague, and imperfect.

The schoolmasters are, generally speaking, young, ardent, and
enthusiastic; if educated abroad, they are fully versed in all the usual
branches of study, earnest in their work, as if pressed forwards by the
impetus of their desire for inculcating into the minds of their ignorant
but by no means unintelligent brethren all the views and sentiments that
engross their own. The priests of the towns and villages become their
confidants and co-workers; and thus the two bodies that had obtained
self-existence at the same time, and had the same object in view,
served later on as organs for instilling into the people some notions of
personal independence and the wish for national liberty.

As a rule the Bulgarian is neither bright nor intelligent in appearance.
His timid look, reserved and awkward manner, and his obstinate doggedness
when he cannot or will not understand, give the peasant an air of
impenetrability often amounting to brute stupidity. But those who have
well studied the capacity and disposition of the Bulgarian consider this
due rather to an incapability of comprehending at the first glance the
object or subject presented to his attention, and a dogged obstinacy that
will not allow him to yield readily to the proofs offered him.

This defect is so prominent in the Bulgarians that they have received
from the Greeks the cognomen of χονδροκεφάλους (thick-heads), and a
Turk, wishing to denote a person of an obstinate character, will use
the expression of “Bulgar Kaphalu,” while the Bulgarian himself makes a
joke of it, and, striking his head, or that of his neighbor, exclaims,
“Bulgarski glava” (Bulgarian head). These heads, however, when put to the
proof, by their capacity for study, their patience, and perseverance,
gain complete mastery of the subject they interest themselves in, giving
evidence of intelligence, which requires only time and opportunity to
develop into maturity.

The rivalry between this nation and the Greeks is also doing much to
promote education. But another and more friendly and effective stimulant
exists in the untiring efforts of the American missionaries who have
chosen this promising field of labor. Their civilizing influence has
taken an unassuming but well-rooted foundation in all the places in which
they have established themselves, and gradually develops and makes itself
evident in more than one way. Indefatigable in their work of promoting
religious enlightenment and education, these missionaries went about in
their respective districts, preaching the Gospel and distributing tracts
and Bibles among the people, who, in some places, received them gladly
with kindness and confidence, while in others they were regarded with
distrust. Frequently, however, a stray sheep or two would be found, in
even the most ignorant and benighted parts, willing to be led away from
his natural shepherd, ready to listen to and accept the teaching that
spoke to his better feelings and his judgment. If wholesale conversion to
Protestantism (of which I am no advocate, unless it be based upon real
intellectual progress and moral development) does not follow, much good
is done in promoting a spirit of inquiry, which can be satisfied by the
cheap and excellent religious books furnished by the Bible societies.
The purity and devotion that characterize the lives of these worthy
people, who abandon a home in their own land to undertake a toilsome
occupation among an ignorant and often hostile population, form another
moral argument which cannot fail in the end to tell upon the people.
Nor has their work of charity amidst death, cold, and starvation, after
the massacres, often at the risk of their own lives, tended to lessen
the general esteem and regard in which they are held by all classes and
creeds of the population by which they are surrounded.

The Bulgarian student, whether in his own national schools or in those
of foreign nations, is hard-working and steady; grave and temperate by
disposition, he seldom exposes himself to correction or to the infliction
of punishment. The scarcity of teachers was at first a great hindrance
to the propagation of knowledge; this difficulty was by degrees removed
by sending youths to study in foreign countries, who, on their return,
fulfilled the functions of schoolmasters. In former times Russia was a
great resort for these students, but lately, notwithstanding the great
facilities, financial and otherwise, afforded them in that country, they
now prefer the schools of France and Germany, together with the College
of the American Mission at Bebek, and the training schools that have been
lately established in the country, which are now capable of supplying
the teachers necessary for the village schools. Recent events have, to a
great extent, disorganized this excellent system: had it been allowed ten
years longer to work, a transformed Bulgarian nation might have occupied
the world’s attention.

The girls’ schools, also formed by the active American ladies, deserve
our attention. Their principal object is to bestow sound Christian
instruction upon the rising female population, and their efforts have met
with deserved yet unexpected success, not only in developing knowledge
among their own people, but in stimulating the Bulgarian communities
to display a greater interest in the education of their daughters and
found schools of a similar character. These establishments have produced
a number of excellent scholars, who have done honor to them by their
attainments and general good character.

The agents of the Roman Catholic Propaganda have schools in the
principal towns, and are actively employed; but their efforts are more
particularly directed to proselytism than to instruction, and their
work has consequently met with less success than that of the Protestant
missionaries.




CHAPTER XX.

SUPERSTITION.

    Superstitious Character of the Dwellers in
    Turkey—Olympus—Klephtic Legends—The Vrykolakas—Local Spirits—A
    Vampire at Adrianople—Spirits of the Springs—Miraculous
    Cures—Magic—Influence upon Bulgarians—An Historiette—Antidotes
    for Spells—The _Meras Tas_—Universal Belief in Magic, and
    the Consequences—_Buyu Boghchas_—The _Buyu Boghchas_ of
    Abdul-Medjid and Aziz—Quack Astrologers—A Superstitious
    Pasha—The Evil Eye—Remedies thereagainst—Spring
    Bleeding—Vipers—Means of expelling Vermin—Remedial
    Properties of Hebrew Beards—Dreams—Omens—Sultan Mahmoud’s
    Omen—Predictions—The Bloody Khan: Buried Treasure.


There are few people so superstitious as the people of Turkey. All
nations have their traditions and fancies, and we find educated
Englishmen who dislike walking under a ladder on superstitious grounds;
but in Turkey every action, every ceremony, every relation, is hedged
round with fears and omens and forebodings. Whatever happens to you
is the work of supernatural agencies, and can only be remedied by the
_nostrums_ of some disreputable hag or some equally suspicious quack
diviner. If you lose anything, it is the evil eye of some kind friend
that has done it. If you look fixedly at anybody or anything, it is you
who are trying to cast the evil eye. In short, nothing happens in Turkey
unsupernaturally: there is always some spirit or magician or evil eye at
the bottom of it. And this belief is not confined to the Turks: Greeks,
Bulgarians, and even a good many Franks, are equally superstitious. Nor
is this superstition, like the many harmless customs still observed in
England, a mere luxury—an affectation: it is a matter of life and death.
Not a few young girls have died from the belief that they were bewitched,
or from some other superstitious shock; not a few homes have been made
miserable by the meddlesome prophecies of a suborned astrologist.

A great centre of superstition is Mount Olympus. Since the gods
deserted it the popular imagination has peopled it with spirits of
every denomination, and Klephtic legend has added to the host. The
Greek peasants have a superstitious horror of approaching the ruined
villages at the foot of the mountain; making the sign of the cross, they
take a circuitous by-path sooner than follow the deserted road that
would lead them past the desecrated church, the neglected graveyards,
the blackened ruins of the cottages, now believed to be haunted by
the restless spirits of dead Klephts, who roam about in the silence of
night, bemoaning their fate, and crying vengeance on the oppressors of
their race. It is only on the anniversary of the patron saint of this
deserted region that the surviving inhabitants of these once prosperous
hamlets, bringing their descendants and carrying the aged and infirm
as well as the youngest babes, set out on a pilgrimage to these spots
hallowed by unforgotten wrongs, to pray for the souls of the dead and
offer _mnemosyné_ to calm their restless spirits; and to inculcate in
their children the sacred duty of vengeance on the tyrants who inflicted
upon their ancestors those speechless injuries whose memory it is the
object of these pilgrimages to preserve fresh and vengeful. The Turks,
ever ready to accept their neighbors’ superstitions, dread these ruined
villages no less than the Greeks. Peopled, as he believes them, by Peris
and Edjinlis, no Turk will come near them, for fear of coming under some
malign influence.

The Klephtic legends are full of the most terrible of all ghosts, the
_Vrykolakas_, or vampire. Many popular songs tell of this fearful
spectre, who is the spirit of some traitor or other evil-doer who cannot
be at peace in his grave, but is ever haunting the scene of his crime.
One ghastly poem records the visit of a traitorous Klepht chieftain,
Thanásê Vagía, as a vampire, to his widow. This man had betrayed
his comrades to Ali Pasha, and their souls, heralded by the ghostly
Kukuvagia, or owl of ill-omen, come and drag him from his grave and hurry
him to Gardiki, where his deed of treachery was done. Suddenly they find
the soul of the tyrant Ali Pasha, and, forgotten in the rush, Thanásê
Vagía takes refuge with his widow. The dialogue between them is full
of dramatic power; the horror of the wife at the livid apparition that
seeks to embrace her, and the vampire’s terror in his miserable doom,
are vividly told. At last the spectre is driven away by the touch of the
cross, which he uncovers on his wife’s bosom. It is a striking poem, and
brings home to one the living reality of this horrible superstition to
the Greeks. As we have seen, they make periodical visits to the graves of
their dead to discover whether the soul is at peace. If the body is not
fully decomposed at the end of the year, they believe that their relation
has become a Vrykolakas, and use every means to lay the spirit.

But the Vrykolakas, though the most ghastly of spirits, is not alone.
There are invisible influences everywhere in Turkey. If the Vrykolakas
haunts the graveyards, old Konaks have their _edjinlis_, fountains their
_peris_, public baths their peculiar genii.

All these imaginary beings, whose existence is implicitly believed in,
are expected to be encountered by the persons upon whom they may choose
to cast their baneful or good influence. Their dreaded hostility is
combated by the Christians by religious faith, such as an earnest appeal
to Christ and the Virgin, by repeatedly crossing themselves in the name
of both, or by taking hold of any sacred amulet they may have on their
persons. These amulets consist of small portions of the “true cross”
enshrined in crosses of silver, a crucifix, or an image of the Virgin,
which, trustingly held and shown to the apparitions, have the effect
of rendering them impotent and causing them to vanish. The Turks have
recourse to the repetition of a certain form of prayer, and to their
_muskas_ or amulets, in which they place as much faith as the Christians
do in theirs.

In 1872 the whole town of Adrianople was put in commotion by the nightly
apparition of a spectre that showed itself at Kyik, a fine elevated
part of the town, inhabited both by Christians and Mussulmans. This
imaginary being, believed to be a Vrykolakas, was represented to me, by
eye-witnesses of both creeds, who swore they had seen it listening about
their houses in the twilight, as a long, slim, ugly-looking figure, with
a cadaverous bearded face, clad in a winding-sheet; one of those restless
spirits, in fact, who, not being allowed the privilege of peaceful
decomposition in their tombs, still haunt the homes of the living,
tapping at their doors, making strange noises, and casting their evil
influence upon them. This comedy lasted a fortnight, during which in vain
did the Mussulman _Hodjas_ and the Christian priests endeavor, by their
prayers and incantations, to free the people from their alarming visitor.
At last, it was rumored that the only human being possessing the power of
doing so was a Turkish _Djindji_, or sorcerer, famous for his power over
evil spirits, who lived in a town at some distance, but who could only be
prevailed upon to come by payment of seven _liras_ by the Kyik people. On
the arrival of this man at Adrianople the supposed spirit disappeared.
The belief of the inhabitants in the existence of the vampire was too
deeply rooted to allow me to ascertain who was the charlatan that had
benefited by this imposition on public credulity. I questioned a Greek
woman who had seen it. She crossed herself, and said she would rather
dispense with talking on the subject. On asking a Turk his opinion on
the apparition, he said, “It must have been the spirit of some corrupt
bribe-eating Kadi, forbidden the repose due to the remains of an honest
man, and come back to trouble us with his presence after he has lost the
power of fleecing us of our money!”

The spirits that have their abodes in mineral baths are specially courted
by the sick, who are taken to the establishments and left under the
beneficent care of these beings. The mineral bath of Kainadjah, near
Broussa, is a dark dungeon-like place, extremely old, and much famed in
the district for its healing powers. Its waters, strongly impregnated
with sulphur, are boiling hot, rendering the atmosphere of the bath
intolerable to any but the credulous, who, I suppose, support it, by
virtue of the faith they place in the good to be derived from the trial.
A crippled Turkish woman was taken to this bath at nightfall, with a
written petition in her hand to the genii, and, according to the usual
routine, was left alone in utter darkness in the inner bath till morning.
The spirits of the place, if well disposed towards her and pleased with
the sacrifice promised to them, would be expected to come in the course
of the night and attend upon her. A copper bowl, left by the side of the
patient, and knocked against the marble slabs in case assistance was
required, was the only means of communication between the patient and her
friends waiting outside.

This woman, for many years deprived of the use of her legs, had been
brought from a distant part of the country. I had a chat with her before
she underwent the treatment. She appeared fully sensible of the dangers
it presented, but at the same time confident in the benefits expected to
be derived, which the bath-women represented to her as being unfailing,
owing to the supernatural aid the spirits would be sure to accord her.
This cure, of a nature so exhausting to the system, and so telling upon
the imagination, requires a great amount of moral courage and no small
degree of physical strength to carry out.

This subject was one of deep interest to me, and my first care next
morning was to visit the patient, and see what the waters, not the
_Peris_, had done for her. I found her sitting in the outer chamber of
the bath, looking very tired and exhausted; but, as I approached, her
face lighted with smiles, and she actually stretched out her feet and
attempted to stand upon them. I could scarcely believe my eyesight or
conceal my surprise at this sudden change in her condition. Her friends
cried out in chorus, “Spit upon her, and say _Mashallah_!” while the
bath-women ceased not to sound the praises and boast of the power
and good-will of the _Peris_ of their establishment who had wrought
this wonderful cure, leaving all the time no doubt in my mind that the
beneficent spirits were no other than the _Hammamjis_ themselves.

The following is the account the patient gave of what she underwent when
left alone in her vapory dungeon:

“At first I felt a suffocating sensation, then by degrees a weakness
crept over me, my eyes closed, and I fainted away. I do not know how long
I remained in that condition, but on recovering consciousness I felt
myself handled by invisible beings, who silently pulled and rubbed my
afflicted limbs. My terror at this stage was as great as my helplessness
to combat it. I began to tremble and wished to call for help; when on the
point of doing so, I suddenly found myself under the reviving influence
of a pail of cold water suddenly thrown over me. The shock, together
with my terror, was so great that I actually made a supreme effort to
stand upon my feet, when, to my awe and astonishment, I discovered that
I had the power of doing so; I even took a few steps forwards, but in
the darkness I could proceed no further, and, finding my voice, began to
call for help with all my might. The gentle bang of the door for a moment
made me hope that my friends were within reach; but no! it was only the
spirits, who, unwilling to be seen by mortal eyes, were taking their
departure. Their exit was followed by the arrival of my friends, who,
alarmed by my screams, were rushing to my aid. I was taken out by the
advice of the good _Hammamji Hanoum_ (bath mistress), and left to repose
in the outer chamber till morning. I have already ordered the sacrifice
of the sheep I promised to the spirits, should they relieve me of the
infliction that has crippled me so many years, and am willing to submit
to the same ordeal twice more, according to the recommendation of the
_Hammamji Hanoum_, in order to afford the _Peris_ the full time needed
for the accomplishment of their task.”

Cases of a similar nature have often been the theme of wonder among
those who frequented the baths of Broussa, whose efficacious waters used
annually, and employed by civilized patients who resort to them from all
parts of the Empire, are found salutary enough without the services of
the _Peris_.

Magic plays a great part in Turkish affairs. Christians and Moslems,
Greeks and Bulgarians, Turks and Albanians, implicitly believe in the
power possessed by evil-minded persons of casting spells upon their
enemies or rivals, and extraordinary means are resorted to with a view to
removing the baneful influence. Among my Uskup reminiscences, which are
none of the most pleasant, I remember one particularly interesting case,
which not only illustrates the general belief of an ignorant population
in the power of spells, but also presents a fair picture of the way the
peasants are treated by their masters. This instance of the rape of a
Bulgarian girl by a brigand chief is no isolated case. Such things are
the daily occupation of Turks in authority and of Albanian chiefs who
have forgotten their national traditions and have condescended to ape
Turkish manners.

The heroine of my story was a young Bulgarian girl belonging to the town
of Uskup. She was a strong healthy maiden, but not the less beautiful:—a
brunette, with bright black eyes full of expression, a small, well-shaped
mouth, fine teeth, a forehead rather low, but broad and determined,
and a nose in which high spirit and character were strongly marked.
Her oval face would have been perfect but for the slight prominence of
the cheek-bones. Her jet-black hair fell in a number of braids on her
well-shaped shoulders, in fine contrast to the rich embroidery of her
_Sutna_. On working days she was seen laboring in the fields with her
brothers, where her cheerful voice would enliven the monotonous sound of
the spade; while on feast-days she was ever the first to reach the common
and lead the _Hora_ to the sound of the _Gaida_. Her natural gayety made
her welcome everywhere; she was called “The Lark” by her friends, and was
the life and soul of every gathering. She had the happy assured look of
the girl who loves well and is loved well again.

One feast-day, riding by the common, I reined in my horse, and stopped
to admire this pretty creature by the side of her handsome and
intelligent-looking lover, gracefully leading the dance. They both looked
pleased and happy, as though their earthly Paradise had as yet known
no shadow. But the sun that set so brightly on the festivities of the
day was darkened on the morrow. The poor girl was going at dawn to the
harvest field, with her bright sickle in her hand, when she was waylaid
by a band of Albanian ruffians, who suddenly appeared from behind a
hedge where they had been concealed, and tried to seize and carry her
off. The danger was sudden, but the stout-hearted girl lost neither
courage nor presence of mind; holding her sickle, she stood her ground,
bravely defended herself and kept her ravishers at bay. The Albanians,
who make it a point of honor not to strike a woman, changed their plan,
and pointing their guns at her brothers, who stood helpless by her side,
shouted, “Yield, Bulka, or both your brothers are dead!” A look of
despair flashed for a moment across her face; then folding her arms she
declared her readiness to follow her persecutors, saying, “You have power
over my person, take it, and do your worst; but what is within here”
(pointing to her head and heart) “none shall have save the Great Bogha
and my Tashko.”

Mehemet Bey, a brigand chief, was the instigator of the abduction.
Assisted by two subordinates, he placed her behind him on his horse and
galloped off across the plain of the Vardar to his village. The brothers,
dismayed by the misfortune that had so unexpectedly befallen their
sister, ran back to the town and gave notice to the venerable bishop,
who at once proceeded to the Konak and acquainted the Kaimakam with
the details, and demanded that the girl should be reclaimed and given
up to him. The salutary custom then practised in cases of both willing
and compulsory conversion was that the neophytes should be placed under
the keeping of the bishop in the _Metropolis_, where they were allowed
to remain three days, enjoying the benefits of religious advice and
the good influence of their friends. This excellent custom, since done
away, had the best results. The prevailing custom, which has superseded
this, is to send the neophyte to the house of the Kadi or governor
of the town, where a very different influence, seldom of a salutary
nature, is exerted during three days, when the presumed convert, often
yielding to erroneous arguments and false promises, is led before the
Court to declare his or her adoption of the Moslem faith. This pressure
was brought to bear upon Rayna, our heroine, and she was treated by the
Albanian chief and his friends by turns to threats of vengeance and
every kind of flattery and glittering promise. But the brave girl was
deaf to both, and by the instrumentality of the Kaimakam the captive was
finally brought to the Metropolis, where she strongly protested against
the calumnious accusations brought against her by her enemies of having
tacitly consented to her abduction, and demanded to be led before the
Court without delay to make her final declaration.

Her captivity had naturally been a terrible blow to her betrothed, and
the joy of her release was sadly darkened by horrible suspicions of the
dishonor to which she might have been subjected. The young man accepted
all the same his chosen bride, whom he had so narrowly escaped losing,
and the wedding-day was fixed.

The bridegroom’s home was so situated, that from the windows of my room
I could see into it. The family consisted of an aged Bulgarian woman
and her son, a furrier by trade. A week before the ceremony took place,
the old lady might be seen working away at the preparations for the
coming event. The house was thoroughly cleaned and whitewashed; the
copper pots, pans, and dishes, and the china and glass, indispensable
decorations of the shelves that adorn the walls of every well-to-do
Bulgarian tradesman’s house, were in their turn brought down, made bright
and shining, and then returned to their places. All the carpets were then
produced, in extraordinary quantity, and of all colors, dimensions, and
qualities. These were stretched on mattresses, sofas, on the floors of
the rooms and on the veranda. The cellar was next visited, and no small
quantity of its fluid contents brought forth. Uskup is the only town
in Turkey in which I have noticed a tendency on the part of the female
population to indulge in drink; they do not, however, practise this vice
in public, nor is an inebriated woman ever seen in the country. Finally
the provisions, consisting of an abundant supply of flour, rice, butter,
honey, and fruits were collected, and all seemed in readiness. The future
bridegroom, however, who appeared ill and dispirited, took no very active
part in the arrangements, and I frequently observed him sitting on the
veranda silent and dull, smoking cigarette after cigarette; his mother
occasionally whisking round and reprimanding him in strong Bulgarian
language, to which he would sometimes respond by a few words and at
others would heave a deep sigh and leave the house.

I went to see the bride on the day she was brought to her new home. She
looked very pretty in her bright bridal costume, but her fine eyes had
lost something of their lustre and her cheeks much of their wonted bloom.
She looked serious and concerned; her husband, dull and dispirited. As
they stood up to make the first formal round of the dance, I noticed the
difference in their step, formerly so light, now heavy and sorrowful.
As they turned round, slowly measuring their steps to the music of the
_gaida_, not a smile parted their lips, not a cheerful word was heard
from the rest of the company. The poor bride noticed this, and a few
tears dropped from her eyes; but her cup of sorrow was not yet full. A
suspicious-looking woman, famous for her deep knowledge of witchcraft,
entered; taking aside the bridegroom, she whispered something in his ear
which seemed to impress him deeply. This bird of ill omen left behind
her a chill which all seemed to feel. When the week’s feasting was at an
end, the gossips began to chat over the event, all agreeing that a duller
wedding had never taken place in their town, and prophesying all sorts of
misfortunes to the young couple. I frequently saw them from my windows,
and noticed that they did indeed seem far from happy. The husband looked
morose, was seldom at home, and during those intervals was always in bad
humor and disputing with his mother, and quarrelling with his wife, who
was oftener crying than laughing.

The gossiping tongues of the neighbors were once more loosed, and the
report was spread that the bridegroom was laboring under the influence
of a magical spell cast upon him by his disappointed rival, the Albanian
chieftain, and that he was consequently _zaverza_. This spell cast
upon men is, among other devices, operated by means of the locking of
a padlock by a sorcerer, who casts the lock into one well and the key
into another. This is supposed actually to lock up every feeling and
faculty of the individual against whom it is directed, and to render him
insensible to the impressions of love. This spell, implicitly believed
in and much feared by all the ignorant people of the country, requires
the assistance of a professional to remove its malignant effects. The
unhappy couple, after many miserable months, resolved to have recourse
to the sorceress before mentioned, and after the husband had undergone
the remedies prescribed by her everything went well, and my heroine once
again became happy. Such is the force of imagination.

The antidotes employed in these cases consist of quicksilver and other
minerals, placed with water in a basin, called the _Meras Tas_, or
Heritage-Bowl, a very rare vessel, highly prized for its virtues, and
engraved with forty-one padlocks. The water is poured from this bowl
over the head of the afflicted person during the seven weeks following
Easter. At Monastir, this ablutionary performance is held in a ruined
mill called Egri Deirmen, where every Thursday during this period may be
seen a heterogeneous gathering of Turks, Jews, Bulgarians, Wallachians,
Albanians, and Greeks, young and old, male and female, who resort to the
spot, and for the modest payment of a copper coin receive the benefits
of an anti-magical wash. Every one who has been to the place will attest
the beneficial effect of this rite, and so deeply rooted is the belief in
the influence of magic in the minds of these people that even those who
may have wished to free themselves from what they almost admit to be a
superstition, say that they are led back by the incontrovertible evidence
they see of its effects on the persons against whom it is employed.

Most of the spells cast upon persons are aimed at life, beauty, wealth,
and the affections. They are much dreaded, and the events connected with
this subject that daily occur are often of a fatal character. A Turkish
lady, however high her position, invariably attributes to the influence
of magic the neglect she experiences from her husband, or the bestowal
of his favor on other wives. Every Hanoum I have known would go down to
the laundry regularly and rinse with her own hands her husband’s clothes
after the wash, fearing that if any of her slaves performed this duty she
would have the power of casting spells to supplant her in her husband’s
good graces. Worried and tormented by these fears, she is never allowed
the comfort of enjoying in peace that conjugal happiness which mutual
confidence alone can give. A _buyu boghcha_ (or magic bundle) may at any
time be cast upon her, cooling her affection for her husband, or turning
his love away from her. The blow may come from an envious mother-in-law,
a scheming rival, or from the very slaves of whose services the couple
stand daily in need. A relative of Sultan Abdul-Medjid assured me that
on the death of that gentle and harmless Padishah no fewer than fifty
_buyu boghchas_ were found hidden in the recesses of his sofa. All these
were cast upon the unfortunate sovereign by the beauties who, appreciated
for a short time and then superseded by fresh favorites, tried each to
perpetuate her dominion over him.

During a conversation I recently had with a Turkish lady of high
position, who had spent seventeen years of her life in the seraglio of
Sultan Abdul-Aziz, I happened to refer to the eccentricities occasionally
displayed by that Sultan. She looked reproachfully at me and exclaimed,
“How can you accuse the memory of our saintly master of eccentricity
when every one knows it was the effect of magic?” and, adding action to
her words, she began to enumerate on the tips of her fingers all the
persons who had a special interest in having recourse to this practice
in order to bewilder the mind of the Sultan. “The first schemer,” said
she, “is the Validé Sultana, desirous of perpetuating her influence over
the mind of her son. The next is the Grand Vizir, in the hope of further
ingratiating himself with his master. Then comes the Kislar Aga, chief
of the eunuchs, with a host of women, all disputing with each other the
affection of the Sultan. If ten out of twelve of these fail in their
attempt the machinations of two will be sure to succeed, and these two
suffice to bewilder the mind of any man. When our lamented master was
driven out of his palace, and the furniture removed from his chamber,
_buyu boghchas_ were found even under the mats on the floor. These, taken
up by some good women that still venerated his memory, were thrown into
the sea or consumed by fire.”

The _buyu boghcha_ is composed of a number of incongruous objects, such
as human bones, hair, charcoal, earth, besides a portion of the intended
victim’s garment, etc., tied up in a rag. When it is aimed at the life
of a person, it is supposed to represent his heart, and is studded with
forty-one needles, intended to act in a direct manner and finally cause
his death. Two of these bundles, of a less destructive nature, were
thrown into my house; on another occasion two hedgehogs, also considered
instruments of magic and forerunners of evil, were cast in. All these
dreaded machinations had, however, no other effect on me beyond exciting
my curiosity to know their perpetrator; but they occasioned great fear to
my native servants, who were continually expecting some fatal calamity to
happen in consequence.

The advice of magicians, fortune-tellers, dream-expounders, and quack
astrologers is always consulted by persons desirous of being enlightened
upon any subject. Stolen property is believed to be recoverable through
their instrumentality, and the same faith is placed in them as a European
victim of some wrong would put in the intelligence and experience of
a clever detective. Some of these individuals are extremely acute in
arriving at the right solution of the mystery. Their power, dreaded by
the suspected parties as sure to result in some unforeseen calamity,
is a moral pressure which, when set to work upon the superstitious,
succeeds beyond expectation. The following is an example of the hold
that superstition has over the minds of the most enlightened Turks. A
Pasha, who had been ambassador at Paris, and whose wit, liberal ideas,
and pleasant manners were highly appreciated in European circles, was
appointed in his more mature years Governor-General of Broussa during the
reign of Abdul-Medjid. During his travels he had collected a splendid
library, the finest ornament of his house. These books gave umbrage to
an old sheikh, who possessed unlimited influence over the Pasha. The
old fanatic had mentally vowed the destruction of these writings of the
infidel, and by means of his eloquence and by prophetic promises he so
worked upon the governor’s superstitious feelings as to induce him to
sacrifice his library, which was brought down into the court-yard and
made into a bonfire. The recompense for this act of abnegation, according
to the sheikh, was to be the possession of the much-coveted post of Grand
Vizir. Strange to say, a short time afterwards the Pasha was called
to occupy that position; but its glory and advantages were enjoyed by
him for the short period of three days only—a poor recompense for his
sacrifice.

Belief in the evil eye is perhaps more deeply rooted in the mind of the
Turk than in that of any other nation, though Christians, Jews, and
even some Franks regard it as a real misfortune. It is supposed to be
cast by some envious or malicious person, and sickness, death, and loss
of beauty, affection, and wealth are ascribed to it. Often when paying
visits of condolence to Turkish harems, I have heard them attribute
the loss they have sustained to the _Nazar_. I knew a beautiful girl,
who was entirely blinded and disfigured by small-pox, attribute her
misfortune to one of her rivals, who, envying in her the charms she did
not herself possess, used to look at her with the peculiar _fena guz_
(bad expression) so much dreaded by Turkish women. When the misfortune
happened, the ignorant mother, instead of reproaching herself for her
neglect in not having had her daughter vaccinated, lamented her want of
foresight in having omitted to supply her with the charms and amulets
that would have averted the calamity.

A lady who had lost a beautiful and valuable ring that had attracted
the attention of an envious acquaintance, when relating to me the
circumstance with great pathos, attributed her loss solely to the evil
eye cast upon it by her friend.

I knew a lady at Broussa whose eye was so dreaded as to induce her
friends to fumigate their houses after she had paid them a visit. She
happened to call upon my mother one evening when we were sitting under a
splendid weeping willow-tree in the garden. She looked up and observed
that she had never seen a finer tree of its kind. My old nurse standing
by heard her observation, and no sooner had our visitor departed than she
suggested that some garlic should at once be hung upon it or it would
surely come to grief. We all naturally ridiculed the idea, but, as chance
would have it, that very night a storm uprooted the willow. After this
catastrophe the old woman took to hanging garlic everywhere, and would
have ornamented me with it had I not rebelled.

At Uskup the finest horse in the town was my Arab, which was said to
excite the admiration and envy of the Albanians, whose love for fine
horses is well known. Often after having been out he was pronounced
_Nazarlu_ by our faithful kavass and the groom, and was at once taken to
a sheikh of great repute in the town, who read prayers over it, pulled
its ears, and after breaking an egg on its forehead, sent it back with
every assurance that it was _Savmash_ (cured). Finding that my pet was
none the worse for this strange treatment (for which I was never allowed
to pay by my excellent friend the old sheikh), and seeing that it
afforded gratification to my people, I allowed them to take it as often
as they liked.

Visiting one day the nursery of a friend, we found the baby, six months
old, divested of its clothing and stretched on a square of red cloth,
while the old Greek nurse, much concerned about the ailing condition of
her charge, which she attributed to the effects of the evil eye, was
presiding over the following operation performed by an old hag of the
same nation in order to free the infant from the supposed influence.
Little heaps of hemp, occupying the four corners of the cloth, were
smoking like miniature altars; their fumes, mingling with the breathings
and incantations of the old enchantress, offered a strange contrast to
the repeated signs of the cross made by her on the baby’s body, ending in
a series of gymnastic contortions of its limbs. The child soon recovered
his wonted liveliness, and seemed to enjoy the process, crowing and
smiling all the time.

Should you happen to fix your gaze on a person or object in the presence
of ill-disposed Turks, you are liable to receive rude remarks from them
under the idea that you are casting the evil eye. Some months ago two
Turkish boys, belonging to one of the principal families of the town of
R⸺, attracted the attention of some Christian children who stood by, and
who were forthwith violently assaulted by the servants of the little
boys, who called out, “You little giaours! how dare you look in this
manner at our young masters and give them the evil eye?” The cries of the
children brought some shopkeepers to the spot, who with some difficulty
rescued them from this unprovoked attack.

The preservatives employed against the power of this evil are as numerous
as the means used to dissipate its effects. The principal preventives
and antidotes are garlic, cheriot, wild thyme, boar’s tusks, hares’
heads, terebinth, alum, blue glass, turquoise, pearls, the bloodstone,
carnelian, eggs (principally those of the ostrich), a gland extracted
from the neck of the ass, written amulets, and a thousand other objects.
The upper classes of the Christians try to avert its effect by sprinkling
the afflicted persons with holy water, fumigating them with the burning
branches of the palms used on Palm Sunday, and by hanging amulets round
their necks: as preservatives, coral, blue glass ornaments, and crosses
are worn. The common people of all denominations resort to other means in
addition to these. The Bulgarians, for instance, take six grains of salt,
place them on each eye of the afflicted person, and then cast them into
the fire with a malediction against the person supposed to have caused
the evil. They also take three pieces of burning charcoal, place them in
a green dish, and making the sign of the cross pour water over them. Part
of this liquid is drunk by the victim, who also washes his face and hands
in it and then throws the remainder on the ground outside the house.

On the last day of February (old style), they take the heads of forty
small fish, and string and hang them up to dry. When a child is found
ailing from the supposed effects of the evil eye, the heads are soaked
in water, and the horrible liquid given to it to drink. It is considered
a good test of the presence of the evil eye to place cloves on burning
coals and carry them round the room. Should many of these explode, some
malicious person is supposed to have left the mischievous effects of the
_Nazar_ behind him.

Blue or gray eyes are more dreaded than dark ones, and red-haired
persons are particularly suspected. Great circumspection is observed in
expressing approbation, admiration or praise, of anything or anybody, as
all Orientals live in a continual state of dread of the effects of the
_fena guz_.

Besides the belief in spirits, magic, and other supernatural powers,
public credulity in the East is apt to accept as facts a variety of
matters not less absurd and often more injurious. In spring, for
instance, a popular idea prevails that blood in some manner or other
must be drawn from the body in order to cool the system and render
it healthy for the summer. Part of the population will appeal to the
barber, part to professed phlebotomists, others to the application of
leeches. Superstition requires that vipers should be medicinally used in
spring; the gypsies undertake to collect these and sell them alive to
the inhabitants of towns. I remember seeing one of these reptile-hunters
carry a bagful of them on his back against a sheepskin-coat. A passer-by
being attracted by their movements, visible through the bag, took hold of
it, but no sooner had he done so than he paid dearly for his curiosity
by being severely bitten by one of them. Freshly killed animals, such as
frogs, birds, etc., are often applied to suffering members of the body.

Croup is cured by amulets procured from the Hodjas and hung round the
neck of the child. Turkish women have often assured me that this remedy
is never known to fail, and consequently they resort to no other.
Square pieces of paper, bearing written inscriptions, are given for a
few piastres by learned Hodjas to persons whose dwellings are infested
with vermin. These are nailed on the four walls of an apartment, and
are believed to have the power of clearing it of its obnoxious tenants.
Going into the room of one of my servants one day at Adrianople, I
found a cucumber-boat occupying each corner. On inquiring why they were
placed there, an old servant answered that, being inconvenienced by the
too plentiful visitation of vermin, she had appealed to a person at
Kyik, whose magical influence, conveyed in cucumbers, was stated to be
infallible in driving the creatures away. I tried to analyze the contents
of these receptacles, but finding them a mess composed of charcoal,
bones, bits of written paper, hair, etc., I soon desisted, hoping that
it would prove more efficacious than it promised.

The Bulgarian remedy for this pest, although simpler in form, can hardly
be more effective. It consists of a few of these insects being caught on
the 1st of March, inclosed in a reed, and taken to the butcher, their
credentials being couched in the following terms: “Here is flesh, here is
blood for you to deal with; take them away and give us something better
in exchange.”

Another means of getting rid of serpents, venomous insects, and vermin,
is made use of by the Bulgarians on the last day of February; it consists
in beating copper pans all over the houses, calling out at the same time,
“Out with you, serpents, scorpions, fleas, bugs, and flies!” A pan held
by a pair of tongs is put outside in the court-yard.

Mohammedans execrate the Christian faith, and Christians the Mohammedan
faith, but both in cases of incurable diseases have recourse reciprocally
to each other’s Ἁγιάσματα (holy wells), the sacred tombs of the saints,
and to the prayers of the clergy of both creeds. I have often seen
sick Turkish children taken to the Armenian church at Broussa, and
heard prayers read over them by Armenian priests. I have also seen
Christian children taken to Hodjas to be blown and spat upon, or have
the visitation of intermittent fever tied up by means of a piece of
cotton-thread twisted round the wrist.

I happened one day to be making some purchases from a Jew pedler at the
gate, when a Turkish woman passing by came quietly up to the old man, and
before he could prevent her, made a snatch at his beard and pulled out
a handful. The unfortunate Hebrew, smarting under the pain and insult,
asked the reason for her cruelty. “Oh,” she answered, “I did not intend
to insult or hurt you; but my daughter has had fever for a long time, and
as all remedies that I have tried have proved vain, I was assured that
some hairs snatched from the beard of an Israelite and used to fumigate
her with would be sure to cure her.” She then tied up her stolen treasure
in her handkerchief and walked away with it.

Dreams play a great part in Eastern life. The young girl, early taught
to believe in them, hopes to perceive in these transient visions a
glimpse of the realities that are awaiting her; the married woman seeks,
in their shadowy illusions, the promise of the continuation of the
poetry of life, and firmly believes in the coming realities they are
supposed to foreshadow; while the ambitious man tries to expound them
in favor of his hopes and prospects, often guiding his actions by some
indistinct suggestion they convey to his mind. When a Greek woman has
had a remarkable dream, she will consult her Ὄνειρο, or book of dreams,
the Bulgarian will gossip over it with her neighbors, often accepting
their interpretation, and the Turkish woman will do the same, but if
not satisfied with the explanations given, she has the alternative of
consulting the Hodja, who will find a better meaning in his “learned
books.”

A projected contract of marriage is often arrested by the unfavorable
interpretation of a dream, or a marriage that had not previously been
imagined is entered into under the same influence. The vocations of a man
may be changed by a dream, and the destinies of a family trusted to its
guidance. Dreams are often used as a medium of discovering truth, and are
efficacious instruments in the hands of those who know how to use them.
A Turkish servant was suspected by one of my friends of having stolen a
sum of money which she missed from her safe. The lady called in the woman
and said to her, “Nasibeh, I dreamed last night that while I was out the
other day you walked into my room and took the money that was there.” The
culprit, taken by surprise, exclaimed, with too much earnestness, “I
did not take it!” My friend responded, “I have not accused you of having
taken it, but since you deny it so earnestly you are open to suspicion.
If the money is not there you must have taken it.” After a little
pressure the woman confessed that, tempted by the _Sheytan_, she had
done so, but that she would give it back, promising to be honest for the
future. She was retained in her situation, and, be it said to her credit,
was never again found guilty.

The most trivial circumstances connected with the birth of a child are
considered of good or bad omen according to the interpretation given
to them. Trifling accidents happening on a wedding-day have also their
signification; so have the breaking of a looking-glass, the accidental
spilling of oil, sweeping the house after the master has left it to go
on a journey, the meeting of a funeral or of a priest, a hare crossing
the path, and a thousand other every-day occurrences. The Turks, after
cutting their nails, will never throw away the parings, but carefully
keep them in cracks of the walls or the boards, where they are not likely
to be scattered about. This is based on the idea that at the resurrection
day they will be needed for the formation of new ones.

Sultan Mahmoud, the grandfather of the present Sultan, was in his bath
when the news of the birth of his son Abdul-Aziz was announced to him.
The tidings are said to have made him look sad and thoughtful; he heaved
a deep sigh, and expressed his regret at having been informed of the
event when divested of his clothing, saying it was a bad omen, and his
son was likely to leave his people as naked as the news of his birth had
found his father. Unfortunately for the nation, this prediction was but
too exactly realized.

Predictions have great influence over the Mohammedan mind. On the eve
of great battles, or on the occasion of any great political change,
prophecies are consulted and astrologers appealed to, to prognosticate
the issue of the coming event. Many of these individuals have paid with
their heads for the non-fulfilment of their prophecies.

The last prediction in circulation at Stamboul, uttered since the death
of Sultan Abdul-Aziz, says that seven sultans must succeed each other,
most of them dying violent deaths, before the Empire will be secure.

While living at a farm near Broussa, situated a few miles from the
town, not far from the ruins of a fine old hostelry called the “Bloody
Khan,” my mother was one moonlight night accosted by an old Turk while
we were out walking. He was a stranger in the place, tall and handsome,
with a snowy beard falling upon his slightly bent chest. A peculiar,
restless look about the eyes, and the numerous scars that covered his
bare breast and face were evident indications that whatever his present
calling might be, his past life must have been a stormy and adventurous
one. He walked quietly towards us, and stopping before my mother, with
a certain amount of respect mingled with paternal familiarity, said to
her, “_Kuzim, gel!_ (Daughter, come!) I have a secret to reveal to you.”
My mother followed him, and half amused and wholly incredulous listened
to the following recital. Pointing to the “Bloody Khan,” which, being
situated upon the principal road leading into the interior, had once
been occupied by a band of forty robbers, he said, “I was the chief of
the band of brigands that occupied that Khan. You must know its story.
Forty years have passed during which my faithful followers have been
caught, killed, or dispersed, leaving me the sole representative of the
band. A timely repentance of my evil ways led me to make a _Tubé_ vow
and renounce the old trade. I have since lived in peace with Allah and
with men. I have sworn to lay violent hands on no man’s property more;
but my conscience does not rebel against attempting to recover what I
had buried beneath yonder wall. I want your powerful concurrence to dig
out this buried treasure, the greater part of which will be yours.” My
mother naturally refused to have anything to do with the affair. Seeing
her unwillingness, the old man tried all his powers of persuasion to
induce her to take part in his plan, saying, “On me, my daughter, be the
sin. I will rest content with a small portion of what will be recovered,
all the rest I abandon to you!” Finding this last inducement had no more
effect than his previous promises, he turned away, saying, “Since you
refuse I must seek somebody else.” Among the few Mohammedan inhabitants
of the small village his choice fell upon the _Imam_, whose enterprising
face promised the old man better success. The cunning Imam, on hearing
the brigand’s tale, being persuaded of its veracity, at once promised his
assistance, mentally deciding, however, that he would be the only one to
profit by the hidden treasure. He at once began to make use of the usual
stratagem of superstition, which could alone secure the success of his
plan. Telling the old man that according to his books ill-gained wealth
must be in the possession of evil spirits, and that in order to guard
themselves against their influences during their digging enterprise, and
to prevent the treasure from turning into charcoal, a peculiar process of
appeasing and soothing incantations would be needed; but that he would at
once proceed to perform these, and at the first crowing of the cock all
would be ready, and they would proceed together to the spot and unearth
the treasure. The credulous old chief stroked his beard, and said that
with Allah’s help and the good-will of the _Peris_ by the next day they
would be rich men. In the course of the night, as arranged, the two,
spade in hand, leading the Imam’s horse bearing saddle bags, proceeded
to the spot. The Imam commenced operations by surrounding himself and
his companion with as many magical observances as he could invent.
Telling him to remove the first spadeful of earth, they went on digging
alternately until a hollow sound told the sharp ear of the Imam that the
distance between them and the coveted wealth was not great. He threw down
his spade, and again resorting to magical mummeries declared that the
danger was imminent, as the spell foretold resistance on the part of the
spirits, and a refusal to yield possession unless a goat were at once
sacrificed to them. “Go,” said he, earnestly, “back to the mosque, and
in the small chamber you will find three goats; take the milk-white one
and bring it here. Do not hurry it much, but lead it gently, as becomes
the virtue of the offering.” The old man, nothing doubting, with Turkish
nonchalance went quietly back to the village, which lay about three miles
distant. The Imam once rid of him, and when in no danger of being seen
or heard, set actively to work, got out the treasure, placed it in his
saddle-bags, mounted, and rode off, and was never seen or heard of in
the village again. The old man returned in due time, accompanied by the
goat, to find nothing but his spades, the pile of earth, and the gaping
hole. Disgusted, disappointed, and enraged, he came back to the village,
and early next morning made his appearance at the farm. Inquiring for my
mother, he acquainted her with the pitiable results of his attempt. This
time the curiosity of the whole family was roused, and we all proceeded
in a body to the spot. The old man’s assertions proved to be perfectly
correct, and my brother, upsetting part of the upturned earth, discovered
a handsome silver dish and cup, which we took home with us as trophies of
the strange adventure.

The following strange incident happened at Broussa when I was a child.
Incredible as it may appear, its authenticity cannot be disputed, and a
statement of the fact may be found in the Consular Reports made at the
time to the Foreign Office:

The monotonous life of the inhabitants of this romantic old city, which
a French _improvisateur_ justly designated as _un tombeau couvert de
roses_, was one morning startled by the arrival of a band of fifty or
sixty wild-looking people—men, women, and a few children. None knew
whence they came or what they wanted. Some of them, dressed as Fakirs,
spoke bad Turkish; the rest used a guttural dialect unintelligible to
any but themselves. Their costume, composed of a sheet or wrapper, left
their arms, legs, and tattooed breasts bare; white turbans, from under
which a quantity of matted hair hung, covered the heads of the men. The
women, whose arms and breasts were bare, wore brass and bead ornaments,
large rings in their ears, and a sheet over their heads. They were fine,
strongly-built people, with regular features and bronzed skins. This
nomad band, which was conjectured to have come from some distant part
of Central Asia, took up its quarters at Bournabashi, a beautiful spot
outside the walls of the town, where a grove of cypress trees shelter
a fine mausoleum containing the saintly remains of one of the first
chieftains who accompanied Sultan Orkhan and settled in the city after
the conquest. His shrine, much venerated by the Mohammedans, is a resort
for pilgrims, who may often be seen performing their ablutions at the
cool fountains by the side of the vale, or devoutly bending to say their
_namaz_ under the shade of the imposing trees, having lighted tapers on
the tomb.

It must have been some mysterious legend connected with the life and
deeds of this reputed saint, mixed up, as most Oriental legends are, with
the supernatural, that, finding its way back to his native land, and
discovered or expounded centuries later by his savage kindred, led them
to undertake this long journey and do homage at the tomb of the Emir.
Their actions seem, however, to have been prompted partly by interested
motives, for their legend seems mysteriously to have stated that great
riches had been buried with him, whose possession was only attainable by
human sacrifice. The easy consciences of the fanatics do not appear to
have felt any scruples with regard to the means they were to use, and in
their zeal, stimulated by their greed for gain and by superstition, they
undertook the long journey that, after perhaps months of hardship and
toil, led them to their goal.

The day after their arrival they were seen in twos and threes scouring
the town, crossing and recrossing all its streets under the pretext
of begging, but, as subsequently discovered, with the real object of
kidnapping children. According to their confession, forty was the number
needed, whose fat boiled down was to be moulded into tapers, which,
burning day and night on the tomb of the Emir, were to soften the spirits
into complaisance and induce them to give up the treasure they guarded
in its original state, and not in charcoal, as would be the case if
this all-important part of the operation were omitted by the searchers.
The news of the appearance of the kidnappers, with some inkling of
their object, soon spread through the town and began to terrorize the
inhabitants of the Christian quarters, where they were principally seen
loitering, when palpable evidence of their operations was brought before
the English Consul by the timely rescue of two Armenian children, who
had been half strangled, one being brought in insensible and the other
having on its throat the deep and bleeding nail-marks of the two ruffians
from whose hands the children had been rescued by some passers-by, who
interrupted the murderous work as it was being executed in the sombre
archway of a ruined old Roman bridge crossing the ravine that intersects
the town. The Consul at once proceeded to the Governor and requested
that the case should at once be looked into. But the sacred character of
Fakir protecting some of these men made public investigation difficult,
and the authorities hushed up the matter, and only signified to the band
that they must renounce their project and leave the country. They did so,
expressing their deep regret at the want of faith of the authorities, and
bitterly reproaching them with their refusal to co-operate tacitly with
their desire.




CHAPTER XXI.

ISLAM IN TURKEY.

    Religious Parties—The Ulema and Softas—Conservatism—Imams,
    Muftis, and Kadis or Mollahs—Corruption—The Dervishes—Their
    Influence over the People—A Dervish Fanatic in Bulgaria—Various
    Orders of Dervishes—Revolving and Howling Dervishes—The
    Bektashis—A Frank Sheikh—Ceremonies of Islam—Friday at the
    Mosque—The Prayers—Ramazan—A Night in Ramazan—Pilgrimage—Kismet.


The religion of the Turks is properly the orthodox or _Sunni_ form of
Islam, the doctrines of which are too well known to require description
here. But the subject is complicated by the fact that there is a
considerable opposition between the popular and the “respectable”
religion. The Established Church, so to speak, of Turkey is governed by
the Ulema, or learned men trained in the mosques, often supported by
pious endowments. The popular faith, on the other hand, is led by the
various sects of dervishes, between whom and the Ulema there exists an
unconquerable rivalry. Some account of these two parties is essential to
any description of the people of Turkey.

The Ulema are the hereditary expounders of the Koran, to the traditional
interpretation of which they rigidly adhere. They have nothing to say to
the many innovations that time has shown to be needful in the religion of
Mohammed, and they brand as heretics all who differ a hair’s-breadth from
the old established line. The result of this uncompromising orthodoxy has
been that the Ulema, together with their subordinates the Softas (a sort
of Moslem undergraduates), have managed to preserve an _esprit de corps_
and a firm collected line of action that is without a parallel in Turkish
parties.

Midhat Pasha and his party perceived this, and made use of the Ulema
as tools to effect their purpose; but as soon as the _coup d’état_ was
completed, Midhat Pasha’s first care was to free himself as much as
possible from further obligations towards them, and to break up their
power by exile, imprisonment, and general persecution. He understood that
if left to acquire further ascendency in public affairs, great mischief
would ensue. The Ulema were clamoring loudly for reforms; but the reforms
they demanded were those of the ancient Osmanlis and the execution of the
Sheriat or Koran laws, which, equitable as they are among Mohammedans,
would not improve the condition of the rayah. Herein lies the chief
reason why reforms in Turkey remain for the most part a dead letter. The
Koran has no conception of the possibility of Christian subjects enjoying
the same rights as their Moslem neighbors. No judge, therefore, likes to
go against this spirit; and no good Mohammedan can ever bring himself to
a level with a caste marked by his Prophet with the brand of inferiority.
Midhat Pasha, thoroughly cognizant of this fact, could not enter into
a pact with the Ulema, the strictest observers of the Koran law, and
at the same time satisfy the urgent demands of Europe in favor of the
Christian subjects of the Porte. He did the best he knew in the midst of
these difficulties, and produced his constitution. This was construed in
one light to the Mohammedans, and in another to the Christians; whilst
it was intended to pacify Europe by insuring, nominally at least, the
reforms demanded by her for the rayahs. Nobody, however, believed in the
Constitution. The Mohammedans never meant to carry it into execution; and
Europe, in its divided opinions on the subject, had the satisfaction of
seeing it submerged in the vortex of succeeding events.

The order of Ulema is divided into three classes: the _Imams_, or
ministers of religion; the _Muftis_, doctors of the law; and the _Kadis_
or _Mollahs_, judges. Each of these classes is subdivided into a number
of others, according to the rank and functions of those that compose it.

The _imams_, after passing an examination, are appointed by the Sheikh ul
Islam to the office of priests in the mosques. The fixed pay they receive
is small, about 6_l._ or 7_l._ per annum. Some mosques have several
imams. Their functions are to pronounce the prayer aloud and guide the
ceremonies. The chief imam has precedence over the other imams, the
muezzins (callers to prayer), the khatibs, hodjas, and other servants of
the mosque.

In small mosques, however, all these functions are performed by the
imam and the muezzin. Imams are allowed to marry, and their title is
hereditary. Should the son be unlettered, he appoints a deputy who
performs his duties. Imams, generally speaking, are coarse and ignorant,
and belong to the lower-middle class of Turkish society. Their influence
in the parish is not great, and the services they fulfil among their
communities consist in assisting in the parish schools, giving licenses,
and performing the ceremonies of circumcision, marriage, and of washing
and burying the dead. They live rent free, often deriving annuities from
church property. The communities pay no fixed fees, but remuneration is
given every time the services of the imam are required by a family. No
Mohammedan house can be entered by the police unless the imam of the
parish takes the lead and is the first to knock at the door and cross
the threshold. Should the search be for a criminal in cases of adultery,
and the charge be brought by the imam himself certifying the entrance of
the individual into the house, and the search prove fruitless, the imam
is liable to three months’ imprisonment. A case of the kind happened
a few years ago to a highly respectable imam in Stamboul, who, having
for some time noticed the disorderly conduct of a hanoum of his parish,
gave evidence, supported by his two mukhtars, or parish officers, of
having seen some strangers enter the house. The search leading to no
discovery, the hanoum demanded reparation for her wounded honor, and the
three functionaries were cast into prison. The imam, on being released,
cut his throat, unable to survive the indignation he felt at seeing the
evidence of three respectable persons slighted and set aside before the
protestations of false virtue, backed by bribes.

This is one of the strange licenses of Turkish law. Crime is not punished
unless its actual commission is certified by eye-witnesses; this is the
reason that evidence of crime committed during the night is not admitted
as valid by the laws of the country. The imams, under the pressure of
this law, think twice before they give evidence; nor do they much like
the unpleasant duty of accompanying police inspections, from which they
generally excuse themselves.

The _muftis_, or doctors of the law, rank next: seated in the courts of
justice, they receive the pleas, examine into the cases, and explain them
to the mollah, according to their merits or the turn they may wish to
give to them. There is very general complaint against the corruption of
these men, in whose hands lies the power of misconstruing the law.

The _mollahs_ or _kadis_ form the next grade in the Ulema hierarchy. They
are appointed by the Sheikh ul Islam, and are assisted in their functions
by the muftis and other officials.

The avarice and venality of this body of men are among the worst
features of Turkish legislature. Few judges are free from the reproach
of partiality and corruption. Their verdicts, delivered nominally in
accordance with Koranic law, are often gross misinterpretations of the
law, and the _fetvahs_ or sentences in which they are expressed are
given in a sense that complicates matters to such a degree as to render
a revisal of the case useless, and redress hopeless, unless the pleader
is well backed by powerful protectors, or can afford to spend vast sums
in bribes—when, perhaps, he may sometimes, after much trouble and delay,
obtain justice.

The Kadi Asker of Roumelia and the Kadi Asker of Anatolia come next in
rank as supreme judges; the former of Turkey in Europe, and the latter of
Turkey in Asia; they sit in the same court of justice as the Sheikh ul
Islam.

This Sheikh ul Islam, or Grand Mufti of the capital, is the spiritual
chief of Islam and the head of the legislature. He is appointed by the
Sultan, who installs him in his functions with a long pelisse of sable.
The Sultan can deprive him of his office, but not of life so long as he
holds his title, nor can he confiscate his property when in disgrace.

The chief function of the Grand Mufti is to interpret the Koran in all
important cases. His decisions are laconic, often consisting of “Yes”
or “No.” His opinions, delivered in accordance with the Koran, are not
backed by motive.

In instances of uncertainty he has a way of getting out of the difficulty
by adding “God is the best judge.” His decrees are called _fetvahs_, and
he signs himself, in the common formula, “the poor servant of God.” He
is assisted in his functions by a secretary called the _fetvah eminé_,
who in cases of minor importance directs the pleas and presents them all
ready for the affixing of the mufti’s seal.

The influence of the Sheikh ul Islam is great, and powerful for good
or harm to the nation, according to his character, and the amount of
justice and honesty he may display in his capacity of Head of Islam and
supreme judge. This influence, however, being strictly Mohammedan, and
based on rigid religious dogmas, cannot be expected to carry with it that
spirit of tolerance and liberality which a well regulated government
must possess in all branches of the administrative and executive power.
Instances, however, in which Sheikhs ul Islam have shown strict honesty,
justice, and even a certain amount of enlightened tolerance, have not
been unfrequent in the annals of Turkey, in the settlement of disputes
between Mussulmans and non-Mussulmans.

I have heard several curious stories about the Grand Muftis of this
century. Whilst Lord Stratford was ambassador at Constantinople, one of
the secretaries had an audience with the Sheikh ul Islam, who at the
moment of his visitor’s entrance was engaged in the performance of his
_namaz_. The secretary sat down while the devotee finished his prayers,
which were ended by an invocation to Allah to forgive a suppliant true
believer the sin of holding direct intercourse with a Giaour. His
conscience thus relieved, the old mufti rose from his knees and smilingly
welcomed his guest. But this guest, who was a great original, in his turn
begged permission to perform his devotions. He gravely went through an
Arabic formula, and ended by begging Allah to forgive a good Christian
the crime of visiting a “faithless dog of an infidel.” The astonished old
mufti was nettled, but with true Oriental imperturbability he bore the
insult.

A late Grand Mufti was greatly respected, and appealed to from all
directions for the settlement of new and old lawsuits, which he is said
to have wound up with strict impartiality and justice; but at the same
time he always urged upon the disputants the advantages of coming to an
amicable arrangement.

One of his friends, observing that this advice systematically
accompanied the winding-up of the case, asked the dignitary why, being
sure of having delivered a just sentence, he recommended this friendly
arrangement? “Because,” said the mufti, “the world nowadays is so
corrupt, and the use of false witnesses so common, that I believe in the
honesty of none; and my conscience is free when I have obtained something
in favor of the loser as well as the winner.”

From the time of the annexation of Egypt and Syria by Selim the
Inflexible, the title of Khalif, or Vicar of God, was assumed by the
Turkish Sultan; but although this title gives him the power of a complete
autocrat, no Sultan can be invested with the Imperial dignity unless
the Mollah of Konia, a descendant of the Osmanjiks, and by right of his
descent considered holy, comes to Constantinople, and girds the future
sovereign with the sword of Othman; on the other hand, a Sultan cannot be
deposed unless a Fetvah of the Sheikh ul Islam decrees his deposition,
or, if by consent of the nation, his death.

Such, then, are the Ulema—the clergy, so to speak, of the Established
Church of Islam in Turkey. They are the ultra-conservative party in the
nation in things political as well as things religious. “Let things
be,” is the motto of the Sheikh ul Islam and his most insignificant
Kadi. It is not surprising that this should be so. Trained in the meagre
curriculum of the Medressé, among the dry bones of traditional Moslem
theology, it would be astonishing if these men were aught but narrow,
ignorant, bigoted; and chained in the unvarying circle of the Ulema world
they have no chance of forgetting the teaching of their youth. But this
does not explain the fact that nine out of ten Moslem judges are daily
guilty of injustice and the taking of bribes.

The Ulema entertain a cordial hatred for the dervishes, whose orthodoxy
they deny, and whose influence over the State and the people alike they
dread. The dervish’s title to reverence does not, like his rival’s, rest
upon his learning and his ability to misinterpret the Koran; it rests
on his supposed inspiration. On this ground, as well as on account of
his reputed power of working miracles, and the general eccentricity
of his life, he is regarded by the people with extreme veneration.
His sympathies, moreover, are with the masses; ofttimes he spends his
life in succoring them; whilst his scorn for the wealthy and reputable
knows no bounds. Hence the people believe in the dervishes in spite of
the ridicule and persecution of the Ulema; and even the higher classes
become infected with this partly superstitious veneration, and seek to
gain the dervish’s blessing and to avoid his curse; and often a high
dignitary has turned pale at the stern denunciation of the wild-looking
visionary who does not fear to say his say before the great ones of the
land. Sultan Mahmoud was once crossing the bridge of Galata when he was
stopped by a dervish called “the hairy sheikh.” “Giaour Padishah,” he
cried, in a voice shaken with fury, seizing the Sultan’s bridle, “art
thou not yet content with abomination? Thou wilt answer to God for all
thy godlessness! Thou art destroying the institutions of thy brethren;
thou revilest Islam and drawest the vengeance of the Prophet upon thyself
and us.” The Sultan called to his guards to clear “the fool” out of the
way. “I a fool!” screamed the dervish. “It is thou and thy worthless
counsellors who have lost your senses! To the rescue, Moslems! The Spirit
of God, who hath anointed me, and whom I serve, urges me to proclaim the
truth, with the promise of the reward of the saints.” The next day the
visionary was put to death; but it was declared that the following night
a soft light was shed over his tomb, which is still venerated as that of
a saint.

But it needed a bold man like the reformer-Sultan to put a noisy fanatic
to death; and even in his case the wisdom, as well as the humanity, of
the act may be questioned. Most grandees would think twice before they
offended a dervish. For popular credulity accords to these strange men
extraordinary powers—the gift of foreknowledge, the power of working
miracles, and of enduring privations and sufferings beyond the limits of
ordinary human endurance; and, not least, these enthusiasts are believed
to have the power of giving people good or evil wishes, which never fail
to come to pass, and which no human action can resist.

In spite of this apparently fanatical and charlatan character, there
is much that is liberal and undogmatical about the dervishes. I have
certainly met with many broad-minded, tolerant men among the sheikhs of
their orders, and have been struck by the charm of their conversation no
less than their enlightened views and their genuine good-will towards
mankind.

On the other hand, though asceticism is part of the dervish’s creed,
and though there be among them really honest and great men, it must be
admitted that a good many dervishes entertain not the faintest scruples
about intoxication and a good many other pleasures which do not seem very
strictly in accordance with their vows. Among the wandering dervishes
many savage and thoroughly bad characters are to be met with. They roam
from country to country; climate, privation, hardships of all kinds,
deter them not; they come from all lands and they go to all lands, but
those of Persia and Bokhara surpass the rest in cunning, fanaticism, and
brutality. There is no vice into which some of them do not plunge; and
all the time they display a revolting excess of religious zeal, couched
in the foulest and most abusive vocabulary their language affords.

One of these wretches once stopped my carriage under the windows of the
Governor’s house at Monastir, and before the kavass had time to interfere
he had jumped in and was vociferating “Giaour” and a host of other
invectives in my face. It was lucky the guard was near and prompt in
arresting him. Next day he was packed out of the town for the fourth time.

Notwithstanding their vices, nothing can exceed the veneration in
which the dervishes are held by the public, over whom they exercise an
irresistible influence. This influence is especially made use of in time
of war, when a motley company of sheikhs and fanatical dervishes join
the army, and encourage the officers and men by rehearsing the benefits
promised by the Prophet to all who fight or die for the true faith. The
voices of these excited devotees may be heard crying, “O ye victorious!”
“O ye martyrs!” or “Yallah!” Some of these men are fearful fanatics,
who endeavor by every means in their power to stimulate the religious
zeal of the troops and of the nation. Every word they utter is poison to
public peace. Among the numerous gangs of infatuated zealots that spread
themselves over the country just before the outbreak of the troubles in
Bulgaria, there was one wandering dervish who specially distinguished
himself by the pernicious influence his prophecies and adjurations
obtained over the minds of the Mohammedan population, exciting them
against their Christian neighbors, who were completely “terrorized” by
his denunciations.

The venerable Bishop of the town of L⸺ related to me the visit he had
received from this dangerous individual, and assured me that this fanatic
was in some measure the cause of the lamentable events that followed.

He first appeared in the town of X⸺, where, after preaching his death
mission among the Mohammedans a few days before the Greek Easter, he
walked up to the quarter of the town occupied by some of the principal
Christian families, and knocking at each door entered and announced to
the inmates that Allah had revealed to him His pleasure and His decrees
for the destruction of the infidels within the third day of Easter. On
reaching the dwelling of the Bishop he requested a personal interview,
and made the same declaration to him.

The Bishop, with some of the leading inhabitants, alarmed at this
threatening speech, proceeded at once to the Governor-General, and
related the incident to him. The dervish was sent for, and, in the
presence of the Bishop and his companions, asked if he had said what was
reported of him, and what he meant by such an assertion. The dervish
merely shrugged his shoulders, and said that he was in his _hal_, or
ecstatic state, and could not therefore be answerable for what he talked
about. The Pasha sent him under escort to the town of A⸺, with a letter
to the governor of that place requesting his exile to Broussa; but the
wily ascetic soon managed to escape the surveillance of the police of A⸺,
and continued his mission in other parts of Bulgaria.

It is impossible here to enter into details as to the constitution of
the various dervish orders (of which there are many), or the tenets held
by them, or the ceremonies of initiation and of worship. Still, a few
words are necessary about the two or three leading orders of dervishes
in Turkey. The most graceful are the Mevlevi, or revolving dervishes,
with their sugar-loaf hats, long skirts, and loose _jubbés_. Once or
twice a week public service is performed at the Mevlevi Khané, to which
spectators are admitted. The devotions begin by the recital of the usual
_namaz_, after which the sheikh proceeds to his _pistiki_, or sheepskin
mat, and raising his hands offers with great earnestness the prayer to
the _Pir_, or spirit of the founder of the order, asking his intercession
with God on behalf of the order. He then steps off his _pistiki_ and bows
his head with deep humility towards it, as if it were now occupied by his
_Pir_; then, in slow and measured step, he walks three times round the
Semar Khané, bowing to the right and left with crossed toes as he passes
his seat, his subordinates following and doing the same. This part of
the ceremony (called the Sultan Veled Devri) over, the sheikh stands on
the _pistiki_ with bowed head, while the brethren in the _mutrib_, or
orchestra, chant a hymn in honor of the Prophet, followed by a sweet and
harmonious performance on the flute.

The Semar Zan, director of the performance, proceeds to the sheikh, who
stands on the edge of his _pistiki_, and, after making a deep obeisance,
walks to the centre of the hall, and gives a signal to the other
brethren, who let fall their _tennouris_, take off their _jubbés_, and
proceed in single file with folded arms to the sheikh, kiss his hand,
receive in return a kiss on their hats, and there begin whirling round,
using the left foot as a pivot while they push themselves round with the
right. Gradually the arms are raised upwards and then extended outwards,
the palm of the right hand being turned up and the left bent towards the
floor. With closed eyes and heads reclining towards the right shoulder
they continue turning, muttering the inaudible _zikr_, saying, “Allah,
Allah!” to the sound of the orchestra and the chant that accompanies it,
ending with the exclamation, “O friend!” when the dancers suddenly cease
to turn. The sheikh, still standing, again receives the obeisance of the
brethren as they pass his _pistiki_, and the dance is renewed. When it is
over, they resume their seats on the floor, and are covered with their
_jubbés_. The service ends with a prayer for the Sultan.

The whole of the ceremony is extremely harmonious and interesting: the
bright and variegated colors of the dresses, the expert and graceful way
in which the dervishes spin round, bearing on their faces at the same
time a look of deep humility and devotion, together with the dignified
attitude and movements of the sheikh, combine to form a most impressive
sight.

Equally curious are the Rifa’i, or howling dervishes. They wear a mantle
edged with green, a belt in which are lodged one or three big stones, to
compress the hunger to which a dervish is liable, and a white felt hat
marked with eight grooves (_terks_), each denoting the renunciation of
a cardinal sin. In their devotions they become strangely excited, their
limbs become frightfully contorted, their faces deadly pale; then they
dance in the most grotesque manner, howling meanwhile; cut themselves
with knives, swallow fire and swords, burn their bodies, pierce their
ears, and finally swoon. A sacred word whispered by two elders of the
order brings the unconscious men round, and their wounds are healed by
the touch of the sheikh’s hand, moistened from his mouth. It is strange
and horrible to witness the ceremonies of this order; but in these
barbarous performances the devout recognize the working of the Divine
Spirit.

But the order which is admitted to be the most numerous and important in
Turkey is that of the _Bektashis_. Like all dervish orders, they consider
themselves the first and greatest religious sect in the universe; and for
this they have the following excellent reason. One day their founder,
Hadji Bektash, and some of his followers were sitting on a wall, when
they saw a rival dervish approaching them, mounted upon a roaring lion,
which he chastised by means of a serpent which he held in his hand as a
whip. The disciples marvelling at this, Hadji Bektash said: “My brothers,
there is no merit in riding a lion; but there is merit in making the wall
on which we are sitting advance towards the lion, and stop the way of the
lion and its rider.” Whereupon the wall marched slowly upon the enemy,
carrying Hadji Bektash and his followers against the lion-rider, who saw
nothing for it but to acknowledge the supremacy of the rival sheikh.

The Bektashis are followers of the Khalif Ali, and attribute to him and
his descendants all the extravagant qualities which the Alides have from
time to time invented. These dervishes have also many superstitious
beliefs connected with their girdle, cap, and cloak. One ceremony with
the stone worn in the girdle is rather striking. The sheikh puts it in
and out seven times, saying, “I tie up greediness and unbind generosity.
I tie up anger and unbind meekness. I tie up ignorance and unbind the
fear of God. I tie up passion and unbind the love of God. I tie up the
devilish and unbind the divine.”

The special veneration of the Khalif Ali by this order renders it
particularly hateful to the orthodox Mussulmans; and yet, strange to say,
it acquired great popularity in the Ottoman Empire, especially among the
Janissaries, who when first formed into a corps were blessed by Hadji
Bektash in person. The new troops are said to have been led by Sultan
Orkhan into the presence of the sheikh near Amassia, when the Sultan
implored his benediction, and the gift of a standard and a flag for his
new force. The sheikh, stretching out one of his arms over the head of
a soldier, with the end of the sleeve hanging down behind, blessed the
corps, calling it _yenicheri_, the “new troop,” prophesying at the same
time that “its figure shall be fair and shining, its arm redoubtable,
its sword cutting, and its arrows steeled. It shall be victorious in
all battles, and only return triumphant.” A pendant representing the
sleeve of the sheikh was added to the felt cap of the Janissaries
in commemoration of the benediction of Hadji Bektash. Most of the
Janissaries were incorporated into the order of Bektashis, and formed
that formidable body of men, who, adding the profession of the monk to
the chivalrous spirit of the warrior, may be considered the Knights
Templars of Islam.

During the reign of Sultan Mahmoud II. the destruction of the Janissaries
was followed by the persecution of the Bektashis, for whom the orthodox
Mohammedans of the present day entertain a sovereign contempt.

The votaries of the Bektashi order in European Turkey are most numerous
among the Albanians, where they are said to number over 80,000. A few
years ago they were subjected to persecutions, which seem to have been
caused by the little regard they displayed for the forms of orthodox
Islam, from which they widely deviate. The point that gives special
offence to the Turk is the little attention paid by the wives of these
sectarians to the Mussulman laws of _namekhram_ (concealment), with which
they all dispense when the husband gives them permission to appear before
his friends. Polygamy is only practised among Albanian Bektashis when the
first wife has some defect or infirmity.

There is much that is virtuous and liberal in the tenets of this order,
but very little of it is put into practice. This neglect is proved by
the disordered and unscrupulous lives often led by Bektashis, and is
accounted for by the existence of two distinct paths they feel equally
authorized to follow: one leading to the performance of all the duties
and virtues prescribed, and the other in which they lay these aside and
follow the bent of their own natural inclinations.

Some of the principal monasteries of the Bektashis are to be found
in Asia Minor in the vilayet of Broussa. A Greek gentleman of my
acquaintance had strange adventures in one of their settlements at M⸺,
where his roving disposition had led him to purchase an estate. After
living for some years among this half-savage set, he became a great
favorite, was received into their order, and finally elected as their
chief, when he was presented with the emblematic stones of the order,
which he wore on his person. One day, however, he narrowly escaped paying
dearly for the honor.

A herd of pigs belonging to him escaped from the farm, and took the
road to the _Tekké_, into which they rushed, while the congregation
were assembled for their devotions. The excited animals, grunting and
squealing, mingled wildly with the devotees, profaning the sacred edifice
and its occupants by their detested presence. The Bektashis sprang to
their feet, and with one accord cried out to the owner of the unclean
animals to ask if, in consequence of his infidel origin, he had played
this trick upon them, and declaring that if it were so he should pay the
forfeit with his life. The Bektashi sheikh displayed remarkable presence
of mind at this critical moment. Rising to his feet, he looked round,
assumed an attitude and expression of deep devotion, and in an inspired
voice exclaimed, “Oh, ye ignorant and benighted brethren, see ye not
that these swine, enlightened from on high, are impelled to confess the
true faith and to join us in our worship? Let them pass through the
ordeal, and tax not a creature of Allah with the effecting of an event
for which He alone is responsible.” Strange to say, this explanation
satisfied the devotees. It illustrates curiously the peculiar character
of the dervishes, their faith in their sheikhs, and their belief in
extraordinary inspiration.

The ceremonies of Islam are observed in Turkey in much the same way as
in other Moslem countries. On Friday all good, and most indifferent,
Mohammedans go to the mosque for the public prayer; but of course there
is no touch of Sabbatarianism among the Turks any more than among any
other followers of Mohammed. In most mosques women are admitted to a
retired part of the edifice; but it is only elderly ladies who go. In
some mosques at Stamboul, where the women’s department is partitioned
off, the attendance is larger, especially during Ramazan. Last year
I went dressed as a Turkish lady to the evening prayer during the
fast. It was a strange sight to me, and the excitement was increased
by the knowledge of the unpleasant consequences that would follow the
penetration of my disguise. The Turkish women seemed out of place there:
their levity contrasted markedly with the grave bearing of the men on the
other side of the partition. The view I thus obtained of the beautiful
mosque of Sultan Ahmet was singularly impressive. The Ulema, in their
green and white turbans and graceful robes, absorbed in the performance
of their religious duties; officers in bright uniforms, and civilians in
red fez and black coat, side by side with wild-looking dervishes and the
common people in the varied and picturesque costumes of the different
nations, all knelt in rows upon the soft carpets, or went through the
various postures of that religion before which all men are equal. Not
a whisper disturbed the clear melodious voice of the old Hodja as he
pronounced the Terravi prayers, which the congregation took up in chorus,
now prostrating their faces on the ground, now slowly rising: you could
fancy it a green corn-field, studded with poppies, billowing under the
breeze. Above were the numberless lamps that shone in the stately dome.

You can give no higher praise to a Turk than saying that he performs
his five prayers a-day. In right of this qualification young men of no
position and as little merit are often chosen as sons-in-law by pious
people. A Turk of the old school is proud of his religion, and is never
ashamed of letting you see it. So long as he can turn his face towards
Mekka, he will say his prayers anywhere. The Turks like to say their
_namaz_ in public, that they may have praise of men; and it is to be
feared that a good deal of hypocrisy goes on in this matter. This,
however, is on the decrease, because fewer Turks in all classes say their
prayers or observe the outward forms of religion than formerly. This is
no doubt partly due to the influence of “Young Turkey,” though other
causes are also at work.

But the orthodox Turk must do more than observe the prayers. The fast
of Ramazan is a very important part of his religious routine. Every one
knows this terrible month of day-fasting and night-feasting. It tells
most severely on the poor, who keep it strictly, and are compelled to
work during the day exactly as when not fasting. Women also of all
classes observe the fast religiously. But there are very few among the
higher officials, or the gentlemen who have enrolled themselves under
the banner of _La Jeune Turquie_, who take any notice of it, except in
public, where they are obliged to show outward respect to the prejudices
of the people.

This fast-month is a sort of revival-time to the Moslems. They are
supposed to devote more time to the careful study of the Koran and to the
minute practice of its ordinances. Charity, peacefulness, hospitality,
almsgiving, are among the virtues which they specially cultivate at this
time; and though the theory is not put in practice to the letter, and
hospitality not carried out as originally intended—the rich man standing
at his door at sunset, bringing in and setting at his table all the poor
that happened to pass by, and sending them away with presents of money—it
is still very largely practised.

I have often partaken of an _Iftar_, or Ramazan dinner. It is very
curious to observe the physiognomy of the _Terriakis_, or great smokers
and coffee-drinkers, who, as the moment of indulgence approaches, become
restless and cross, now sighing for the firing of the gun that proclaims
the fast at an end, now indulging in bad language to the people who
gather round and tease them. As the sun approaches the horizon, a tray
is brought in laden with all sorts of sweets, salads, salt fish, Ramazan
cakes, fruit and olives, contained in the tiniest coffee-saucers,
together with goblets of delicious iced sherbet. When the gun is fired
every one utters a _Bismillah_ and takes an olive, that fruit being
considered five times more blessed than water to break the fast with.
After the contents of the tray have been sparingly partaken of, dinner
is announced, and all gather round the _sofra_; few, however, eat with
appetite, or relish the dinner half so much as they do the cup of coffee
and cigarettes that follow.

During Ramazan night is turned into day, and the streets then remind one
of carnival time in Catholic countries. The wealthy sit up all night,
receiving and returning calls, giving evening parties, spending the time
in a round of feasts and entertainments. At Stamboul, when the prayer
of the _Terravi_—which is recited two hours after sunset—is over in
the mosque, all the people betake themselves to the esplanade of the
Sulimanieh, and hundreds of elegant carriages containing Turkish beauties
may be seen cutting their way through the dense crowd of promenaders.
The bazars are illuminated, and all the fruit and refreshment shops
are open. Eating, drinking sherbet, and smoking, is the order of the
evening, besides a great amount of flirtation. I cannot say that there is
much taste or refinement in this unusual but tacitly recognized passing
intercourse. The ladies all appear in high spirits, and tolerate, and
even seem amused by, the acts of gross impertinence to which they are
subjected by male passers-by. Some of the fast men and _mauvais sujets_
indulge in acts and language that would certainly obtain the interference
of the police in an orderly society.

I accompanied some friends, the family of one of the ministers, to this
evening entertainment. We had six servants round the carriage, but they
were no protection against the heaps of rubbish in the shape of lighted
cigarette ends, parched peas, capsicums, and fruit of all kinds thrown
into it, not to speak of the licentious little speeches addressed to us
by passing beaux. My friends advised me to be on my guard, as action
is often added to word, and the arms and hands of the occupants of
the vehicles made to smart from the liberties taken with them. Thus
forewarned, I took care to shut the window on my side of the carriage;
a little scream from my companions every now and then, when we found
ourselves in the densest part of the crowd, followed by a shower of abuse
from the negress sitting opposite us, showed that my precaution had not
been needless. The little respect paid to women in this indiscriminate
_mêlée_, where the dignity of the Sultana was no more regarded than the
modesty of the lowly pedestrian, struck me forcibly. It made the greater
impression upon me as it contrasted strongly with the respect paid to her
under other circumstances. In steam-boats, for example, an unattended
Turkish woman is seldom known to be insulted, even when her conduct gives
provocation.

Three hours before dawn, drums are beaten and verses sung through the
streets to warn the people to prepare for the _sahor_, or supper, after
which an hour’s leisure is accorded for smoking and coffee-drinking,
when the firing of a gun announces the moment for rinsing the mouth and
sealing it against food till sunset. All business is put off by the
wealthy during the day, which is filled up by sleep; while the poor go
through the day’s work unrefreshed.

Pilgrimages, though less practised now than formerly in Turkey, are
still considered the holiest actions of a Mohammedan’s life. The most
perfect is the one embracing the visit to the four sacred spots of
Islam—Damascus, Jerusalem, Mekka, and Medina; but the long journey that
this would entail, the dangers and difficulties that surround it, are
checks upon all but the most zealous of pilgrims, and only a few hardy
and enterprising individuals perform the duty in full. The pilgrims,
collected from all parts of the country, leave Constantinople in a body
fifteen days before the fast of Ramazan. The Government facilitates
this departure by giving free passages and other grants. Those pilgrims
that go _viâ_ Damascus are the bearers of the Imperial presents to the
holy shrines. Every Hadji on returning from Mekka bears a token of
his pilgrimage in a tattoo mark on his arm and between his thumb and
forefinger.

I cannot close a chapter on Islam in Turkey without referring to a belief
which, though but vaguely introduced into the original faith of Mohammed,
has come to mean everything to the Turk. I mean _Kismet_. It is not,
of course, the belief in an inevitable destiny that is remarkable: all
nations have their share in that, and modern Christianity has sometimes
carefully formulated the doctrine of the fatalist. It is rather the
intensity of the Turk’s belief, and his dogged insistance on its logical
results, that make it so extraordinary. Many people besides Turks believe
in destiny, but their belief does not prevent them from consulting their
doctor or avoiding infection. With the Turk all such precautions are
vain: if it is kismet that a thing shall happen, happen it will, and
what then is the good of trying to avert it? Everything in Turkey is
controlled by kismet. If a man suffers some trifling loss, it is kismet;
if he die, it is also kismet. He marries by kismet, and shortly divorces
his wife by the same influence. He succeeds in life, or he fails: it is
kismet. Sultans succeed one another—again kismet. Armies go forth to
conquer or to be conquered—Fate rules the event. It is useless to fight
against the decrees of kismet. That Fate helps him who helps himself is
a doctrine incomprehensible to the Turk. He lies passive in the hand of
destiny: it would be impious to rebel.

The effects of this doctrine lie on the surface. Not only are lives
constantly sacrificed, and wealth and happiness lost by this fatal
principle of passivity, but the whole character of the nation is
enfeebled. The Turk has no rightful ambition: if it is kismet he should
succeed, well and good; but if not, no efforts of his own can avail him.
Hence he smokes his chibouk and makes no efforts at all. Something might
be done with him if he would only show some energy of character; but this
doctrine has sapped that energy at the root, and there is no vitality
left.

This is the main disastrous result of fatalism: it has destroyed the
vigor of a once powerful nation. But every day brings forth instances
of lesser evils flowing from the same source. It is hardly necessary to
point out in how many ways a fatalist injures himself and all belonging
to him. One or two common cases will be enough. I have already referred
to the neglect of all sanitary precautions as one of the results of the
belief in kismet. This neglect is shown in a thousand ways; but one or
two instances that I remember may point the moral. Turkey is especially
liable to epidemics, and of course the havoc they create is terrible
among a passive population. In all district towns the Turks manifest the
greatest possible dislike and opposition to every species of quarantine:
they regard quarantine regulations as profane interference with the
decrees of God, and systematically disregard them. The doctor of the
first quarantine establishment at Broussa was assaulted in the street by
several hundred Turkish women, who beat him nearly to death, from which
he was only saved by the police. Small-pox is among the most fatal of
the scourges that invade the people, and Turkish children are frequently
victims to it; yet it is with the utmost difficulty that a Turk can be
induced to vaccinate his child, though, happily, the precaution is now
more practised than it used to be.

Separation in sickness is another of the measures Turks can never be
made to take. A short time ago a girl of fourteen, the daughter of our
_kavass_, was seized with an attack of quinsy. As soon as I heard of it
I begged our doctor to accompany me to the Mohammedan quarter and visit
the invalid. We found her lying on a clean _shelté_, or mattress, on the
floor, which was equally occupied by her young brothers and sisters,
who were playing round and trying to amuse her. The doctor’s first care
was to send away the children, and recommend that they should on no
account be allowed to come near her, as her throat was in a most terrible
condition. Both parents declared that it would be impossible to keep them
away; besides, if it was their kismet to be also visited by the disease,
nothing could avert it. The room occupied by the sick girl was clean and
tidy; the doors and windows, facing the sea, fronted by a veranda, were
open, and the house being situated in the highest part of the town, under
the ruins of the old walls, the sharp April air was allowed free access
to the chamber most injuriously to the invalid. On the attention of the
parents being drawn to the fact, they simply answered that the feverish
state of the child needed the cool air to such an extent that twice
during the preceding night she had left her room and gone down to the
yard to repose upon the cold stone slabs in order to cool herself!

In spite of every effort to save her, she died on the third night from
exhaustion caused by her refusal to take the medicines and nourishment
provided for her, and to be kept in her chamber, which she had abandoned,
taking up her quarters on the balcony, where we saw her on the last
day. On visiting the family after the sad event, we found the unhappy
parents distracted with sorrow, but still accepting it with fatalistic
resignation, saying that “her _edjel_ had come to call her away from
among the living.”

Our attention was next attracted by three of the children. The youngest,
a baby, appeared choking from the effects of the same complaint, and
died the same night. The other two, a boy and girl, also attacked,
were playing about, although in high fever and with dreadfully swollen
throats. The doctor begged that they should be sent to bed, to which they
both refused to submit, while the parents phlegmatically said that it
would be a useless measure, as they could not be kept there, and that if
it should be their kismet to recover they would do so. I am glad to say
they did recover, though I am afraid their recovery did not convert the
doctor and me to a belief in kismet.

Owing to this fatal and general way of treating sickness, the
prescriptions of physicians, neither believed in nor carried out, are
useless; besides, they are always interfered with and disputed by quacks
and old women, and the muskas, prayers, and blowings of saintly Hodjas.

When the patient survives this extraordinary combination of nursing, it
is simply stated that his _edjel_ or death-summons has not yet arrived.

If a man die away from his home and country, his kismet is supposed to
have summoned him to die on the spot that received his body.

Kismet thus being the main fountain whence the Mohammedan draws with
equanimity both the good and the evil it may please Providence to pour
forth upon him, he receives both with the stoicism of the born-and-bred
fatalist, who looks upon every effort of his own to change the decrees
of destiny as vain and futile. Hence he becomes _Moslem_, or “resigned,”
in the most literal sense. His character gains that quality of inertness
which we associate with the Oriental, and his nation becomes, what a
nation cannot become and live—stagnant.




CHAPTER XXII.

CHRISTIANITY IN TURKEY.

    The Greek or Holy Orthodox Church—Its Character under Ottoman
    Rule—Its Service to the Greek Nation—Superstitious Doctrines
    and Rites—Improvement—Revenues—Bishops—Patriarchs—The Higher
    Clergy—Schools—Parish Priests—Fatal Influence of Connection
    with the State—Monasteries—Mount Athos—The Five Categories
    of Monks—Government of the “Holy Mountain”—Pilgrims—The
    Bulgarian Church—Popular Interest in the Church Question—Sketch
    of the History of the Schism—The Armenian Church—St.
    Gregory—Creed—Church Polity—influence of Russia—Contest between
    the Czar and the Catholicos—Ritual—Clergy.


It has long been the custom to fling a good deal of contumely on the Holy
Orthodox or Greek Church. Judging from the descriptions of trustworthy
writers, from conversations I have often held with persons of authority
on the subject, and from personal observation, I feel convinced that
if part of the abuse heaped upon the Greek Church is well founded,
the greater portion is due to the rivalry and hatred of the Western
Church, and to the antipathy felt by the Reformed Church towards her
superstitions and formalities; but a still stronger reason may be found
in the errors the church still harbors, and in the ignorance in which
her clergy remained so long plunged. Taking this as a general rule, and
lamenting its consequences, we should on the other hand bear in mind the
great antiquity of the church and its early services to Christianity.
Some of its rites and ceremonies are certainly superstitious and
superfluous, but there is none of the intolerance of the Romish Church,
nor are religious persecutions to be laid to its charge. Its clergy,
stigmatized as venal and ignorant tools in the hands of the Turks, have
nevertheless had their virtues and redeeming points counterbalancing
their evil repute. The rivalry of the upper clergy originated principally
in the corrupt system of bribery pursued by them in their relations
with the Porte for the grant of _berats_ or diplomas installing the
Patriarchs in their respective seats, and the practice indulged in by
the Patriarchs of selling bishoprics at a price in proportion to the
wealth of the diocese. Yet in the midst of this darkness there were still
found men to carry on the work of culture and uphold the dignity of the
church. Nor have the Greek clergy always been the cringing servants
of the Porte, or the go-betweens of the Turks and the rayahs; in the
list of the Patriarchs we find many who, in the midst of difficulties
inevitable in serving a government foreign to their church and hostile
to the hopes and aspirations of their people, hesitated not in moments
of supreme need to sacrifice position, fortune, and even life, under
most horrible circumstances, for the sake of the church. With memories
of such martyrdoms ever present in the minds of a dependent clergy, it
is not surprising to find this section of the Greek nation apparently so
subservient to their rulers. The past, however, with all its blots, is
rapidly passing away; the rules now followed by the Patriarchate in fixed
salaries and written regulations with regard to certain contributions
have put an end to many former abuses. The theological schools, rapidly
increasing in number and importance in Turkey as well as in Greece,
have also a beneficial effect on the training of the clergy, who daily
attaining a higher standard in morality, mental development, and social
position, have of late years been enabled not only to maintain a more
determined and independent attitude before the civil authorities, but
also largely to increase their influence in promoting the education of
their flocks. The old class of clergy is dying out, and gradually a new
and different set of men is coming forward.

The commonest charge that is brought against the Greek Church is its
accumulation of superstitions. But the people are beginning to drop the
more absurd ceremonies and treat the more preposterous superstitions
with indifference. It is true that the church itself is not yet taking
the lead in this matter, as how should it? I have often talked on this
subject with ecclesiastics of the Eastern faith, and they admit both the
absurdity of many of the rites practised and the beliefs inculcated, and
also the tendency of the people to neglect these rites and to disbelieve
these superstitions; but they say that any action on the part of the
church would lead to the serious injury both of itself and the Greek
nation; for a general synod would have to be held to deliberate on the
necessary reforms; schisms would at once arise, and the Greek Church, and
hence the Greek nation, would be disintegrated. However, I believe there
are too many sensible men among the Greek clergy for this weak position
to be maintained long. The church must reform if it is to remain the
church of the Greeks.

At present, however, the priests are afraid to move. They dare not
admit the falsity of parts of their doctrine and the absurdity of their
practices, for fear of wider consequences. For example, a miraculous fire
is supposed to spring from the supposed tomb of Christ on Easter Sunday.
The Greek clergy do not actually assert it to be a miracle—at least not
to Westerns—but if questioned about it they invariably give an evasive
answer; and the priest still continues solemnly to light his taper from
the tomb and present it to the congregation saying, “Take, then, the
flame from the Eternal Light, and praise Christ who is risen from the
dead.”[38] A similar ceremony is observed on a small scale in every Greek
church at Easter, when the congregation light their tapers from the altar
and the same formula is used.

It is needless to say anything here about the doctrines of the Greek
Church: every one knows the insignificant differences which separate
it from the Church of Rome. The rites are less generally known; but
unfortunately they are too numerous and various to be described here. The
general impression produced by a Greek service is gorgeousness. The rites
are essentially Oriental, and have been little changed since the early
days of the Eastern Empire. The ceremonies are endless; fast and feast
days, with their distinctive rites, are always occurring, and though
generally disregarded by the upper classes are scrupulously observed by
the peasantry, to whom the fasts (on which they work as usual) cause
actual physical injury, and the feasts sometimes produce almost equally
disastrous effects. Some parts of the service are very beautiful and
impressive; but the prayers are generally intoned in a hurried and
irreverent manner, which renders them hard to be understood. These
things, however, are mending: the lower clergy pay more attention to the
ordinary rules of decorum in the conduct of the services, and bishops are
now not consecrated unless they are somewhat educated. Formerly the lives
of the saints were the topics of sermons, now they are becoming more
practical and exhortatory; but political subjects are strictly excluded.

Since the conquest the Greek Church and its clergy in the Ottoman Empire
have never been supported by the Government, nor have its ministers
ever received any grant either for themselves or the churches and
schools under their care. An imperial order confirms the nomination of
patriarchs, metropolitans, archbishops, and bishops. The last received
from each family in their diocese a portion of the produce of its
fields: from a peasant, for example, from half a kilo of corn and hay
to a whole kilo, according to his means. This was considered a loyal
donation from each household to its spiritual guide. Besides this the
archbishops enjoyed special benefits from the celebration of marriages,
funerals, and other religious ceremonies to which they were invited.
But unfortunately these emoluments eventually became subject to some
abuses, which excited murmurs from the community. Another custom was
that a bishop should receive from his diocese, at his consecration, a
sum sufficient to defray his immediate expenses during the first year.
This sum, as well as the offerings in kind, was fixed by the elders of
the town in which the metropolitan resided; the local authorities never
interfered in these arrangements, except when the bishops demanded their
assistance for the recovery of their dues. These usages continued in
force until 1860; Feizi Pasha and his two supporters, Ali Pasha and
Fouad Pasha, had previously tried every means to induce the Patriarch
of Constantinople and his Synod, together with the higher classes of
the Greek nation, to accept the funds of their church from the Ottoman
Government. The Porte, in order to obtain the end it had in view, showed
itself liberal by promising large fees to the higher clergy. But for
religious, political, and social reasons, the patriarch and the nation
in general rejected the proposal. After the Crimean War a Constitutional
Assembly, composed of bishops and lay deputies from all the provinces,
was convened by order of the Porte, to deliberate upon the settlement
of some administrative affairs connected with the œcumenical throne of
Constantinople, the cathedrals, and the bishops. This assembly also
regulated, among other things, the revenues of the patriarch and all the
archbishops. Each province, proportionately to its extent, its political
importance, and its Christian population, was ordered to pay a fixed sum.
The annual minimum is 30,000 piastres, and the maximum 90,000 piastres.
The patriarch receives thirty per cent on this. The fees fixed by the
elders of each province are paid annually by each family: the maximum of
this contribution does not exceed twenty piastres each, which, in the
aggregate, constitutes the revenues of the bishops and the pay of their
subordinates. The extra revenues are regulated in the same manner, the
ancient customs concerning their receipt having been abolished. The fees
and extra emoluments of the lower clergy of cities, towns, and villages
are received after the same fashion. An annual sum is paid by each family
to the priest, which in many villages rarely exceeds three or four
piastres. The archbishops also receive their stipend from their diocese,
and are very seldom obliged to request the assistance of the authorities,
who show great repugnance to interfering in the matter.

The social influence of a bishop proceeds from many circumstances. He
is considered the spiritual guide of all Orthodox Christians, presiding
over the vestry and corporation intrusted with public affairs—such as
schools, philanthropical establishments, and churches. He hears and
judges, conjointly with a council composed of laymen, all the dissensions
which arise between the members of the community. To a certain extent,
and when there is no intervention of the local courts, he judges in
cases of divorce, and in disputes relative to the payment of dowries,
as well as in cases of inheritance; but the local courts have the right
of interfering. In these cases the canonical laws are more or less well
interpreted according to the pleasure of the Kadi. The bishop judges all
that relates to the aforesaid cases in right of a privilege granted to
him by the patriarch. He can also decide other matters which belong to
the local courts in a friendly way when the disputants agree to it; but
when one of them appears dissatisfied he may refer it to the local court,
and the sentence or the bishop is nullified by that of this tribunal.

The bishop enjoys the political position of Ἐθνάρχη and permanent member
of the Government Council of the province. In addition to his spiritual
duties, in the fulfilment of which he has sometimes to call in the
assistance of the local authorities, the bishop acts as intermediary
between the Christians and the civil government when they ask for his
intervention and counsel. But this is not always successful, as the
bishop is invested with no regular power, and the local authorities, as
well as the central administration, make use of it as they choose and
when convenient to them, always acting for the direct interest of their
government.

In the Council the influence of the bishop is _nil_; for his vote, as
well as those of all the other Christian members, is lost in the majority
gained by the Mussulmans, to which is added the arbitrary influence of
the Pasha and the President. Very small benefit is derived from the
presence of these Christian representatives at the councils. Liberty
of speech, reasonable discussion, and all that might contribute to the
proper direction of affairs, are entirely unknown.

The Greek Church is governed by four patriarchs residing at
Constantinople, Jerusalem, Antioch, and Alexandria; the last three are
equal and independent, but the authority of the first is supreme in the
regulation of spiritual affairs, and in his hands rests the power of
appointing, dismissing, or punishing any of the prelates. He is elected
by a majority of votes of a synod of the metropolitan and neighboring
bishops, and is presented to the Sultan for institution, a favor seldom
obtained without the payment of several thousand pounds—a long-standing
instance of the habitual simony of the Church. The Sultan, however,
retains the unmitigated power of deposing, banishing, or executing him.
These penalties were frequently inflicted in former times, but the
ecclesiastical body within the last half century has gained much in
influence and substance.

In spite of the general ignorance and corruption of the higher clergy
since the occupation of the country by the Ottomans, their ranks have
never lacked men who were as famous for their knowledge as for their
virtue and piety. There were many who shunned ecclesiastical dignity in
order to pass their lives in instructing the rising generation of their
time.

No religious schools then existed: the ecclesiastics received their
elementary education in the Ottoman establishments, and were subsequently
sent to the colleges of Germany or Italy to complete their studies. It
was only about the year 1843 that the first school for the teaching
of theology was founded in the island of Chalcis, so that most of the
present archbishops in the Empire studied there; but many priests still
go to Athens to complete their education. Schools were also established
for the lower clergy, but the teaching in them was so deficient that most
of the priests were sent to study only in the national schools, where
they learn next to nothing.

The higher ranks of the clergy are entirely recruited from the monastic
order: hence they are always unmarried, and hence the too often vicious
character of their lives. An attempt, partly successful, was made to put
some check upon their conduct by the law that no bishop or archbishop
can hold more than three sees during his lifetime. If, therefore, he
scandalizes the population of two dioceses, he is at least bound to be
prudent in the third.

No distinction exists between the priests of the cities and those of
the country villages. All are equal; nominated and elected in the same
manner; remunerated for their services after the mode already explained.
Nearly all of them are married; but those who are not stand on the
same footing as those who are. Historically, these parish priests have
done some service to the Greek nation: they helped to remind it of its
national existence, and by their simple, hard-working lives taught their
flocks that the Greeks had still a church that was not wholly given over
to cringing to the Turks, that had not altogether bowed the knee to
Baal. But that is all that can be said for them. It is impossible to
conceive a clergy more ignorant than these parish priests; they are not
only absolutely without training in their own profession, knowing nought
of theology, but they have not a common elementary education. If, on the
one hand, this ignorance puts them more on a sympathetic level with their
parishioners, it must not be forgotten that it renders them incapable of
raising their flocks one jot above the stage of rustic barbarism in which
they found them. There is no ambition (unlike the rest of the Greek race)
in these homely priests; for they cannot attain any high position in the
Church. Their association seldom benefits the people with much religious
instruction, for their studies are restricted to the external formalities
of their services. Many of the abuses attributed to them for exactions
are exaggerated: their condition of poverty and modest way of living, in
no way superior to the common people, is the best proof of this fact.
They are accused of bargaining for the price of performing certain rites,
but any abuse of the kind can be prevented by consulting the established
table of fees for all such matters; so that this infringement cannot be
carried on to any great extent.

There is no manner of doubt that the only hope for the Orthodox Church
lies in its separation from Moslem government. So long as its high
dignitaries have to purchase their appointments from Turkish ministers
and Sultans, so long will it retain its character for truckling and
corruption, so long will it lack the one thing needful in a church—moral
force. Not less are the lower clergy affected by this unhappy connection
between church and state. The government puts every obstacle in the
way of the establishment of schools for priests: it is aware that its
influence over the mass of the clergy can last only so long as that
clergy is ignorant and knows not the energy for freedom which education
must bring. Let the Church be severed from the control of the Porte,
let it be assured of the integrity of the Greek nation, and the end
of the necessity for conciliating the Turks, and then we may hope for
reforms—for the regeneration of the priesthood and the destruction of the
web of deadly superstition which it has so long found profitable to weave
round the hearts of the people.

Any account, however brief, of the Greek church would be very incomplete
without some notice of the monasteries which the traveller sees scattered
over the country in the most beautiful and commanding positions, perched
on the summit of precipitous rocks, on the steep slopes of hills, or
nestled in the shady seclusion of the glens. The most renowned are the
twenty monasteries of Mount Athos, called Ἅγιος Ὄρος, or Monte Santo. The
population of this peninsula is quite unique of its kind. The community
of monks is divided into five classes. The first comprises those who
are as it were independent, and are subjected to no severe rules. It
is impossible for a man without fortune to live in these monasteries,
because the common fund provides only the rations of bread, wine, oil,
etc. Every other outlay in the way of dress or the choice of better food
is at his own expense. Each prepares his meals in his cell and need
not fast unless he chooses, but cannot indulge in meat, as its use is
strictly prohibited.

Eight monasteries are called independent (Idiorrhythmic), on account
of the manner in which their occupants live. The greatest of these and
the first founded is Μεγίστη Λαὺρα, or Great Lavra: and the others
are Xeropotamu, Docheiareiu, Pantokratoros, Stavroniketa, Philotheu,
Iveron, and Vatopedi. But these monasteries occasionally change their
_régime_ from the stricter to the laxer discipline, or again from the
Idiorrhythmic to the Cenobite.

The second category comprises the monasteries in which the recluses live
in common. This life, which is one of great austerity, was founded
by the organizers of the religious orders of the Orthodox Church, and
represents, as nearly as possible, the rule of the ascetics of ancient
times. Community of goods is the regulation in these convents: all is
equal, frugal, and simple. There is but one treasury, one uniform, one
table, one class of food, and the discipline is very rigid. Whoever
wishes to enter one of these monastic establishments must give all that
he possesses in the way of money or raiment to the Father Superior
or chief elected by the members of the institution. The neophyte is
submitted to a year’s noviciate; and if, during this time, he can bear
the life, he is admitted into the order and consecrated a monk. If, on
the contrary, the rigid and austere life disheartens him, he is allowed
to retire. Each monk possesses a camp-bed in his cell, besides a jug
of water and his clothing; but he is strictly forbidden, under pain of
severe ecclesiastical punishment, to have money or any kind of food, or
even the utensils necessary for making coffee.

Should a monk find some object on his path, he is obliged to deliver it
to the Father Superior, to whom he ought to carry all his sufferings,
physical and moral, in order to receive consolation and relief. Every
monk belonging to this order must, without shrinking, execute the
commands of the Father Superior concerning the exterior and interior
affairs of the monastery. One third of the night is consecrated to prayer
in the principal church, where all the brotherhood are expected to
attend, with the exception of the sick and infirm. The ritual of prayers
is the same as in all the monasteries of Mount Athos, except those of the
communal ascetics. Vigils are very frequent, the prayers commencing at
sunset and continuing till sunrise.

The following may be mentioned as belonging to this class: St. Paul,
St. Dionysius, St. Gregory, St. Simopetra, and St. Panteleemon, called
the Russian monasteries on account of their being principally inhabited
by Russian and Greek monks. Xenophu, Konstamonitu, and Zographu, are
inhabited by Bulgarian monks, and Chilandari by Bulgarians and Servians.
The other monasteries are Sphigmenu, Karakallu, and Kutlumusi.

The third category is composed of monks who live in solitude. Their
rules resemble those already described, but they may be considered to
lead a life of still greater austerity. Their groups of small houses,
which contain two or three little rooms and a chapel, are called sketés
(σκητή); they are surrounded by gardens of about an acre in extent. In
the midst of these groups of, buildings is a church called Κυριακόν,
where mass is celebrated on Sundays and feast-days, at which service
all the monks are expected to be present; on other days they perform
their devotions in their own chapels. In each of these habitations two
or three monks lead a very frugal life; their food consists of fresh
or dry vegetables, which can only be prepared with oil on Saturday and
Sunday, when they are allowed to eat fish, but very seldom eggs or
cheese. The inhabitants of the σκητή support themselves entirely by their
manual labor; each monk is required to follow some trade by which he can
earn sufficient for his food and clothing. This consists mostly in the
manufacture of cowls, stockings, and other articles of dress, which are
sold in the neighborhood; with the addition of carvings in wood in the
shape of crosses, spoons, etc., with which a small commerce is carried
on with the pilgrims that visit the peninsula. Each σκητή ought to go to
Karias once a year, where a fair is held, to sell his wares, and with
the proceeds buy his supply of food. There are a great many monks who,
with the exception of this annual journey, go nowhere, and possess not
the remotest idea of what is passing in the world outside the restricted
limits of their mountain. On the whole, their life is a time of
continual toil in order to procure what is strictly necessary for their
support, and of endless prayer for the eternal welfare of their souls.

The fourth category comprises the recluses known as Κελλιώται. Their
pretty houses are sometimes sufficiently spacious and kept in good order.
Each contains from four to five rooms and a chapel, besides possessing
large extents of garden planted with vines, and olive and nut trees.
These dwellings are tenanted by five or six recluses, and belong to
convents that sell them to the monks. But the right of possession is not
complete, as the purchasers are subjected to the payment of a small rent,
and are not allowed to transfer their purchase to other persons without
the consent of the monastery. The buyer, being the chief of those who
live with him, considers them his servants or subordinates, and they can
acquire no privileges without long years of service. The Superior may
inscribe the names of two other persons on the title-deeds, who succeed
according to their order in the hierarchy. Such property is never made
over to persons of different religions, the law on this point being very
strict. A new regulation is, that no Greek monastery should be granted to
foreigners, such as Russians, Bulgarians, Servians, or Wallachians; as
they, being richer than the Greeks, might easily make themselves masters
of the whole.

The recluses live on the produce of their lands and seldom by the labor
of their hands. Many among them have amassed a little fortune by the sale
of their oil, wine, and nuts. Their mode of living and their food and
clothing are the same as in the other monasteries; their ritual is also
similar, with the exception that their devotions are performed with more
brevity.

Take away their solitary life and their continual prayers, and they then
might be considered as industrial companies belonging to the world.

The fifth category comprises the anchorites, whose rules are the most
sublime and severe. These holy men do not work, but pass their time
in prayer, the hard earth serves for their bed, and a stone for their
pillow; their raiment consists only of a few rags.

Never quitting their grottoes, they pass their days and nights in prayer;
their food is always dry bread, with fresh water once a week. If the
abode of the anchorite be situated in an inaccessible spot, he lets
down a basket, into which the passers-by throw the bread which is his
sole nourishment. Others have friends in some distant monastery, who
alone know the secret of their retreat and bring them provisions. These
solitary beings shun the sight and sound of man, their life having for
its sole object the mortification of the flesh, meditation, and prayer.
The population of Mount Athos is estimated at between six and seven
thousand souls, two-thirds of whom are Greeks from different parts of the
Ottoman empire, and the other third Russians, Bulgarians, and Servians.
Their government is a representative assembly in which deputies from the
twenty monasteries take part, except the σκητή and the κελλιώται, who are
dependants of the others. The twenty monasteries are divided into four
parts, which are again subdivided into five. Each year a representative
from each division is called upon to take part in the government of
the peninsula. Their duties consist principally in superintending the
police and the administration of justice. These four governors are called
_nazarides_, a Turkish word which signifies inspectors.

Twice a year regularly, and each time a serious case occurs, a kind of
parliament is called, consisting of the twenty deputies, who, with the
four nazarides, occupy themselves with current affairs and common wants.
Each monastery acts independently of the others in the administration
of its affairs. The chief inspector, judge, and spiritual chief, who
decides all disputes that arise in the monasteries is the Patriarch of
Constantinople. The authority of the Turkish government is represented
by a Kaimakam, who acts as intermediary between the parliament and
the Porte; he fulfils rather the duties of a superintendent than that
of a governor. There is also a custom-house officer to watch over the
importations and exportations of “The Holy Mountain.”

Some of the monasteries contain fine libraries and rich church ornaments,
which are the only wealth they possess. Each convent is under the
protection of a patron saint, who is generally represented by some
λείψανα, or relics. The anniversaries of these patron saints are held
in great veneration by the Greeks, crowds resorting to the convents to
celebrate them. Caravans may be seen wending their way along the mountain
paths leading to the convent, some mounted on horses or mules, some on
foot, while dozens of small heads may be seen peeping above the brims of
large panniers carried by horses. On entering the church attached to the
edifice the pilgrims light tapers, which they deposit before the shrine
of the tutelar saint, cross themselves repeatedly, and then join the rest
of the company in dedicating the evening to feasting and merry-making.
These gatherings, though blamable perhaps as being occasioned by
superstitious rites, are otherwise harmless, and even beneficial to
the masses; to the townspeople in the break in their sedentary habits,
and to the country-people in introducing among them more enlightened
and liberal ideas, and in facilitating social intercourse between them
in these Arcadian gatherings under the shade of spreading plane-trees,
and stimulated by the circulation of the wine-cup. I have often visited
these Panaghias and experienced real pleasure in witnessing the happy
gambols of the children and the gay dances and songs executed by the
young people, and in listening to the conversation or those of more
mature years. At meal times all the assembled company unite in an immense
picnic, feasting to their hearts’ content on the good fare with which
they come provided, and to the special profit of the numerous hawkers of
“_scimitiers_,” “_petas_,” parched peas, popped corn, stale sugar-plums,
gum mastic, fruits, flowers, little looking-glasses, rouge, etc.; the
last two articles for the benefit of the young beauties, who may be found
adding to their charms hidden behind the trunk of a tree. The merriment
is kept up to a late hour, and at dawn the slumberers are awakened by
the sound of the monastery bell calling them to mass. This is generally
read by the Egumenos, or Prior, except when the bishop of the diocese
is invited to celebrate it, in which case the ceremony is naturally
more imposing and the expenses incurred by the community increased to
a slight extent. Money, however, is not extorted from the worshippers,
each individual giving to the monastery according to his means and his
feelings of devotion. Kind and open hospitality is afforded to all by the
good monks, whose retired and simple mode of life receives no variety but
from these gatherings.

Women and animals of the feminine gender are not allowed to enter the
precincts of the “Holy Mountain.” This prohibition seems to be in some
way connected with the curiosity of Lot’s wife, whose punishment is
expected to befall the adventurous daughter of Eve who should thus
transgress. This superstition has, however, lost much of its force since
Lady Stratford’s visit to the monasteries during the Crimean War, when
some of the monks tremblingly watched for the transformation, till they
had the satisfaction of seeing her Ladyship quit the dangerous precincts
in the full possession of the graces that characterized her.

It is difficult to say whether the adoption of the Orthodox Creed by
the Bulgarians has been a blessing or a curse to them; for the friendly
union that sprang up from the assimilation of faith between the two
rival nations was not of long duration. Their amicable relations were
often disturbed by jealousies, in the settlement of which Christianity
was often used as a cloak to cover many ugly sins on both sides, and its
true spirit was seldom allowed free scope for its sublime mission of
peace, light, and charity. Religion was the subject that occupied, after
the Crimean War, the minds of the small enlightened class of the modern
Bulgarians, spread over all parts of Bulgaria, but existing in greater
numbers in the eyalet of Philippopolis, where the honest, wealthy, and
educated men who had in foreign lands imbibed the progressive ideas of
the day, raised their voices against the then subjected condition of
their church to that of Constantinople, and put forward a just claim for
its separation or independence. As already mentioned, the religious ties
existing between the Greeks and Bulgarians do not appear at any time to
have formed a bond of union between the two nations, or promoted social
or friendly feelings among them. After the Turkish conquest, Bulgarians
and Greeks, crushed by the same blow, ceased their animosity; but bore
in mind that one was to serve in promoting Panslavistic interests, and
the other those of Panhellenism. The proximity of these two distinct
elements, and the mixture of the one people with the other by their
geographical position, render the two extremely diffident of each other
and jealously careful of their own interests, although direct and open
action on either side has not been prominent.

The Bulgarians, during the 13th century, had separated themselves from
the Church of Constantinople. This was a serious measure which the
mother church naturally resented and used every means in her power to
abolish. In this she finally succeeded in 1767, when the Bulgarian Church
was once more placed under the immediate spiritual jurisdiction of the
See of Constantinople. The Bulgarian bishops were dismissed and their
dioceses transferred to Greeks, the monasteries seized and their revenues
applied to the Greek Church. This was doubtless an unjust blow which the
nation never forgot, nor did they cease to reproach the Greeks with the
injury done to them. The latter had, no doubt, a double interest in the
act, and the first and less worthy was the material profit the clergy
and Greek communities obtained by the appropriation of the Bulgarian
Church revenues. The second was a strong political motive; for the
right of possessing an independent Bulgarian Church and cultivating the
Bulgarian language meant nothing less than raising and developing the
future organ of Panslavism in districts the Greeks consider they have a
hereditary right to; their national interests were, in fact, at stake.
The men to whom was intrusted the duty of protecting these interests
were unscrupulous as to the means they used in the fulfilment of their
task, and a perpetual struggle ensued, resulting in persecution and
other crimes besides the unjust dealing with which the Bulgarians charge
their rivals. Both parties, from their own point of view, are right; and
there is nothing for them but to keep up the conflict till some decisive
victory, or perhaps arbitration, settles the dispute.

The Bulgarian Church question re-commenced in 1858 and lasted until
1872, during which time the bitter strife was renewed between the two
nations, inducing the Bulgarians to demand from the Porte the fulfilment
of the promises made in decreed reforms to guarantee liberty of religious
worship and the church reforms indicated in the Hatti-scherif of Gulhané.

These demands were just and reasonable, and at first limited to the
request that the Porte would grant permission that Bulgarians, or at
least men capable of speaking their language, should alone be appointed
bishops; that the service in their churches, instead of being performed
in the ancient Greek, a tongue unknown to the Bulgarians, should be
performed in the native language, and other similar demands, which the
Greek patriarch very unwisely refused to listen to. Previously to this,
in 1851, the Porte had obliged the patriarch to consecrate a Bulgarian
bishop.

In a church which the Bulgarians had erected by permission of the
Porte at Constantinople, in 1860, during the celebration of Easter,
the Bulgarian bishop, at the request of the congregation, omitted from
the customary prayer the name of the patriarch. This was the first
decisive step towards the accomplishment of the schism that took place
subsequently. The example set by this bishop was followed in many parts
of Bulgaria; occasionally the name of the Sultan was substituted for
that of the patriarch. The excitement this movement caused in Bulgaria
was intense, and acted upon the dormant minds of the people with a force
that pushed them at least ten years in advance of what they had been, and
opened their eyes to things they had failed previously to observe.

The Porte, alarmed by this sudden effervescence of public feeling in
Bulgaria, despatched the Grand Vizir on a tour in that country to study
the feeling of the people. At his approach the inhabitants of every
town flocked to his presence and brought their grievances under his
notice. The Vizir’s action was as just and impartial as circumstances
would allow; he listened to the grievances of the people, righted many
of their wrongs, imprisoned some officials and dismissed others; but,
notwithstanding, the Bulgarians failed to obtain on this occasion any
great material amelioration either of their condition or with regard to
the Church question.

At this stage all true Bulgarians, including those of the rural
districts, were fully aroused; and, reminded by their respective
chieftains, or heads of communities, of the importance of the pending
question, and the necessity of united action, they determined to fight
the battle with the patriarch and overcome the opposition they continued
to meet with from that quarter. Help of any description was desirable
for them, and even foreign agency was prudently courted. The Porte was
given to understand that it possessed no subjects more faithful and
devoted than the Bulgarians, and that the rights they demanded could be
only obtained from it, and if their Sultan decided in their favor he
would secure their eternal gratitude and devotion. Rome began to take an
interest in the matter, and the Government of Napoleon III., stimulated
by the Uniate Propaganda, headed by some Polish dignitaries established
in Paris, endeavored to secure a hold upon the people by means of the
priests and agents sent into Bulgaria, and people were made to believe
that the whole of Bulgaria was ready to adopt Roman Catholicism and place
itself under the protection of France. (See the next chapter.)

Russia, alarmed by these rumors, also began to show signs of active
interest in the matter, and by her promises of assistance, her efforts
to counteract the Uniate movement, and the pressure she finally began to
enforce upon the Porte in favor of the Bulgarian church movement, ended
in gaining to her side a small but influential body of Bulgarians in the
Danubian districts. There was a critical moment when the Bulgarians,
thinking all was lost for them, turned their hopes and even appealed to
England for help, promising that if this were granted they would become
Protestants. The missionaries of the Evangelical and other Protestant
societies were led to believe in the possibility of such a conversion,
and became doubly zealous in their efforts to enlighten the people. In
the midst of this conflicting state of affairs, when each party tried
to enforce its own views and derive the most profit, the church of
Constantinople remained inflexible, the Porte took to compromising, and
the Bulgarians, doggedly and steadily working on, by degrees became more
venturesome in their action, more pressing in their demands, and more
independent in their proceedings. Greek bishops were ejected from their
dioceses in Bulgaria and driven away by the people. In Nish and other
places monasteries were seized, and their incomes reappropriated by the
Bulgarian communities. Personal encounters and struggles of a strangely
unchristian nature were frequent between the contending parties,
sometimes taking place even within the precincts of the churches. The
struggle for independence continued, in spite of the anathemas hurled
against the Bulgarians by the Patriarchate, and was encouraged by the
desertion of two Bishops to their side. The exile of these by the Porte,
at the instigation of the Patriarch, and a variety of other incidents
ensued, until in 1868 Fouad and Ali Pashas took up the Bulgarian cause,
and the exiled Bishops were recalled (February 28th, 1870).

Through the instrumentality of the latter a Firman was issued
constituting a Bulgarian Exarch, and permission was given to the
Bulgarians to elect their spiritual chief, the election to be confirmed
by a Berat of the Sultan.

Ali Pasha’s death, however, in 1871, caused new difficulties, and the
enforcement of this measure was, under different pretexts, delayed
during the ministry of his successor, Mahmoud Pasha, and ultimately only
fulfilled in consequence of the proportions the question had assumed,
and the active interest taken in it by Russia as shown in the policy of
General Ignatieff. This policy was not approved of by the majority of
thinking Bulgarians, who, with good reason, dreaded the consequences of
Russian influence based on the solid assistance it had rendered to the
Bulgarian church. Russia from all times has made use of the churches and
monasteries in Bulgaria, largely endowing them with sacerdotal gifts, in
order to consolidate her influence and gain the faith and confidence of
the people.

All now is confusion, darkness, and uncertainty in Bulgaria. Their
churches, inaugurated with so much hope and confidence, have been
polluted with every crime and stained with the blood of innumerable
victims. Centuries must pass before the wrongs and misfortunes of late
years can be forgotten by this unhappy people.

There is yet another Christian Church in Turkey which must have a place
in this chapter. St. Gregory the Illuminator, the patron saint of
Armenia, is looked upon as the effective bearer of that heavenly light
that was to extinguish the beacons of the fire-worshippers and found the
Armenian Church. In the beginning of the fourth century of our era this
saint preached in court of Tiridates, who, evidently little disposed at
the time to accept the new faith, vented his ill-humor against it by
ordering the martyrdom of its preacher. The most agonizing tortures, say
the Armenian annals, inflicted upon St. Gregory failed in the desired
effect. Finally, after having been made to walk on pointed nails, and
having melted lead poured down his throat, he was cast into a cistern,
among snakes and scorpions, where he lived fourteen years, daily fed by
an angel, who brought him bread and water. At the end of this period
he was allowed to issue from his dismal abode, and was called upon
to baptize the penitent king and his nobles, converted through the
instrumentality of the king’s sister, to whom the Christian religion
was revealed in a vision. Such is the legendary origin of Christianity
in Armenia. The new faith enforced by royalty was soon spread through
the country. St. Gregory was appointed Patriarch of Armenia, and after
creating a number of churches, bishoprics, and convents, and regulating
the canons of each, he retired into the solitude of a hermitage, where
he was put to death by order of the king’s son. It was the beginning of
a long course of misfortunes. There is something grand in the sacrifice
that the ignorant and stout-hearted Asiatics made in the cause of
religion. Nowhere was persecution so long or so cruel, martyrdoms so
terrible, self-denial so complete as among the people of the land where
the human race is fabled to have had its origin.

St. Gregory was succeeded in the Patriarchal chair by his son Aristogus,
who, having taken part in the Council of Nice in 335 A.D., brought back
with him some of its decrees, and caused the first schism in the church.
The terrible religious dissensions that raged for so many centuries
made themselves as deeply felt in Armenia as elsewhere. Every dogma
of Christianity was in turn examined, adopted, or rejected, until the
Monophysitic views, gaining the majority of the people, caused the schism
that finally separated the Armenian from the primitive church.

The two parties, though differing but slightly from each other, cease
not, even to the present day, their antagonism. The schismatics affirm
the absorption of the human nature of Christ into the Divine—the
procession of the Holy Ghost from the Father alone—redemption from
original sin by the sacrifice of Christ, redemption from actual sin by
auricular confession and penance. They adhere to the seven sacraments,
perform baptism by trine immersion, believe in the mediation of saints,
the adoration of pictures, and transubstantiation, and administer the
sacrament in both kinds to laymen; they deny purgatorial penance and
yet invoke the prayers of the pious for the benefit of the souls of the
departed.

The Armenian Church differs from the Latin in seven points. Its doctrine
is contained in the following formula, which the candidates for priestly
office are obliged to profess before ordination: “We believe in Jesus
Christ, one person and a double nature, and in conformity with the Holy
Fathers we reject and detest the Council of Chalcedon, the letter of
St. Leon to Flavian; we say anathema to every sect that denies the two
natures.”

In Church polity, after long quarrels and bickerings between three
patriarchs, each following his own interest, rivalries, and rites, the
supremacy has at last been vested in one who is called Catholicos, chosen
from among the Armenian archbishops and appointed by the Emperor of
Russia. The seat of the Patriarchate is the famous convent of Echmiadzin
at Erivan, in Russian territory. This convent contains a magnificent
library, is extremely wealthy, and exercises supreme power over the
others in spiritual matters. It alone has the right to ordain archbishops
to the forty-two archbishoprics under its control, and to settle points
of dogma. Among the pretended relics it possesses are the dead hand of
St. Gregory, used for consecrating his successors in the Patriarchate,
and the lance with which Christ was pierced. This convent of Echmiadzin
is to the Armenians what Mount Athos has been to the Greeks. In both,
Russia has spared neither expense nor effort to establish her influence
and spread it by means of these channels all over the Christian
populations of the East. Her too stirring policy at Mount Athos, as shown
by the publication of “Les Responsabilités,” and her attempt to enforce
upon the Catholicos of Echmiadzin the decree for the suppression of
the Armenian language in the churches and schools, and replacing it by
Russian, had an equally unfortunate result.

The efforts of the Russian Government to improve the condition of this
country are said to have met with a certain amount of success; commerce
and industry, encouraged by the creation of roads and other facilities,
have been the principal temptations held out to emigrants from Turkish
territory. Of all the European powers Russia alone could help to civilize
and improve the degraded condition of the Christians of those distant
regions. Her influence would have been stronger and more beneficial to
them if her policy had been a more straightforward and liberal one,
and more in accordance with the national rights of the people whose
good-will and confidence she will fail to secure so long as she follows
the old system of trying to Russianize them by the suppression of their
privileges.

The Armenian churches are not unlike those of the Greeks; they are
similar in decoration—pictures of Christ, the Virgin, and the saints
being the principal ornaments of their altars. These pictures are
slightly superior to the expressionless ones used by the Greeks. The
pious often decorate parts of these with a silver or gold coating on the
hands, or as an aureole, and sometimes over the whole body. The Armenians
have faith in the efficacy of prayers addressed to these images, as
well as in the laying of hands on the sick or distressed, who are often
taken to the church and left through the night before the altar of some
special saint. The Armenian patriarchs and bishops enjoy the same rights
and privileges as the Greeks, and administer justice to their respective
communities on the same conditions.

Like the Greek, the Armenian clergy are of two orders, secular and
monastic; the former are allowed to marry, but never occupy a high
position in the church. They are usually very poor, even poorer and more
retired than the Greek parish priests, living like the lower orders of
the people, who look upon them as their friends. Although ignorant,
they are much respected for the morality of their lives, but knowing
nothing more than the routine of their office they are unable to give any
religious instruction to their parishioners beyond that contained in the
books of prayer used in the church; a passage from the lives or writings
of the saints is read in place of a sermon.

This drawback to the propagation of more practical religion is being
by degrees removed since the introduction of excellent religious books
published by the Mechitarist College at Venice, and by the American
Missionary societies. The latter especially have done much to stimulate
the dormant spirit of inquiry; the large circulation of Bibles, which
by their low price are brought within the reach of all, encourages the
propensity shown by the Armenians to admit Protestant ideas, which are
being daily more extensively spread among the community. “In Central
Turkey alone there are now no less than twenty-six organized churches,
with some 2500 members, and audiences amounting in the aggregate to 5000
or 6000 steady attendants.”




CHAPTER XXIII.

RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE AND MISSIONARY WORK.

    Turkish Tolerance—High Disdain for Christians—American
    Mission Work—Roman Catholic Missionaries—Catholic
    Establishments—The Uniates—United Armenians—Mechitar—The Two
    Parties—Persecutions—European Interference—The Hassounists—The
    Hope for Armenia.


From the time of the Ottoman conquest spiritual liberty has been allowed
to all creeds in Turkey, and the external observances and ceremonies of
religion have, in most places, been permitted by the Moslems, though in
some even funeral ceremonies were often molested, and the use of church
bells was forbidden. Certain rights and privileges were granted to each
church, to which the Christians clung with great tenacity—as to a sacred
banner, round which they would one day rally and march to freedom.

By the concessions granted to the vanquished by their conquerors, they
were allowed to retain those churches that had escaped destruction or
were not converted into mosques, and permitted to worship according to
the dictates of their own consciences so long as the sound of their bell
calling the infidels to prayer did not offend the ear of the faithful.
The internal administration was not interfered with; each congregation
was free to choose its own clergy, ornament the interior of its church
as it saw fit, perform its pilgrimages and bury its dead, without
interference from the authorities. These privileges, though looked upon
as sacred by the poor, could not compensate in the sight of the rich
and once powerful for social and material losses; thus many Christians
renounced their faith and adopted that of their masters.

Time and succeeding events have softened down some of the outstanding
wrongs; fanatical outbreaks and religious persecutions have become of
less frequent occurrence; and the various Hattis proclaiming freedom of
worship and religious equality to all Ottoman subjects before the law,
are guarantees that no arbitrary action on the part of the government can
interfere with the religious privileges of the Christians, or deprive
them of their rights. Though this guarantee is a proof of the sincerity
of the Porte in its efforts to give satisfaction to its Christian
subjects, it cannot remove the evil or lessen its consequences, which
remain in all their force of danger and uncertainty. Every movement of
discontent in Turkey receives a strong impulse from that religious zeal
which stimulates the Mohammedan to acts of fanatical barbarity, and
the Christian to a superstitious belief in miraculous powers that will
protect him in the hour of danger. Thus, in times of disturbance the
timorous bulk of the population of a town or village will rush to the
church for safety, there pouring out mingled prayers and tears to God
and all the saints that the threatened danger may be averted. Rarely,
it would seem, are such prayers heard, for the first place to which
the excited Mussulman rushes is the church, and thither the brigand
chief will lead his band, and perpetrate acts of the most revolting
barbarity. The armed peasant, the undisciplined soldier, or the cruel
and licentious Bashi-Bazouk will all attack the sacred edifice, break it
open, and destroy or pollute all that falls into their hands. These are
the ever-recurring evils that no Imperial law will be able to prevent,
no measures eradicate, so long as the two rival creeds continue to exist
face to face, and be used as the principal motives in the struggle, past
and present, for supremacy on one side, freedom and independence on
the other. The Mussulmans, under pressure, will grant every concession
demanded of them, and to a great extent carry them out; but it would be
utterly erroneous to suppose for a moment that under any pressure or in
any degree of civilization, the Turk would be able to disabuse himself of
the deeply-rooted disdain the most liberal-minded of his race feels for
strangers to his creed and nation.

The experiences of all thoroughly acquainted with the character of the
Ottoman tallies with mine on this point. I have seen the disdain felt by
the Mohammedan towards the Christian portrayed on the faces of the most
liberal, virtuous, and well-disposed, as well as on those of the most
bigoted. A Christian, be he European or Asiatic, is an infidel in the
Moslem’s sight. He will receive him graciously, converse with him in the
most amicable manner, and at the same time mumble prayers for pardon for
his sin in holding communication with an unbeliever.

The religious freedom enjoyed by the members of the Protestant and Roman
Catholic churches is far more extensive than that enjoyed by the Eastern.
Both, upheld by the powerful support of European powers, enjoy a liberty
of action and license of speech rarely found in other countries. Both
are aliens and owe their origin to the proselytizing efforts of the
missionaries. The Church of Rome, being the older and more enterprising,
naturally commands a much vaster field than the Protestant; she is
supported by France and other Roman Catholic countries, who jealously
watch over her rights and privileges. The Protestants are protected by
England and America; their missionaries entered Turkey at a later date
and gradually established themselves over the country. At first the
extremely reserved attitude of the missionaries, their conscientious
method of making converts, and the extreme severity of their regulations,
gave them but a poor chance of success. Gradually, however, the esteem
and regard of the people for them increased; stringent opposition,
promoted by sectarian dissensions, died out, and mission stations,
with numerous churches, some of considerable importance and promise,
were established, especially in Armenia. The principal cause of the
encouragement they met with was the wise policy, lately adopted, of
promoting missionary work by education.

The extensive body of Protestant missionaries now found in Turkey
is almost entirely American. The meetings of the Board are held in
Constantinople; it controls the administration of the different missions
and directs the large American College at Bebek—the best foreign
institute for education in the country.

When a community of Protestant converts numbers a few families it is
given a church and school, and one of the principal men is elected
as chief of the society. This person is presented officially to the
authorities by one of the consuls of the protecting powers—generally
the English; he is recognized as chief of his community, obtains a seat
in the local court, and is intrusted with all the interests of his
co-religionists. In difficult or complicated cases the missionaries
themselves share the responsibilities of this chief, and through consular
or ambassadorial agency generally settle all matters calling for redress
and justice in a satisfactory manner.

The few English missionaries who are established in Turkey are intrusted
with the fruitless task of endeavoring to convert the Jews.

The Roman Catholic missionaries, from the date of the separation of the
Eastern and Western Churches, have ever been actively and diligently
employed in making converts. Thus a great portion of the population of
Syria, yielding to their influence, has become Roman Catholic, as have
the Bosnians, a portion of the Albanians, some of the Greeks inhabiting
the islands, the Armenians of Constantinople, and of later years a
small portion of the Bulgarians. The action of the missionaries of
late years has not, however, been so much directed towards making new
converts as it has to consolidating and strengthening the tie binding
the few scattered communities to the mother-church. This religious body
recruits itself chiefly from France and Italy, and consists of priests,
monks, and Sisters of Charity, belonging chiefly to the orders of St.
Benois, the Jesuits, Lazarists, and St. Vincent de Paul. Their extensive
establishments are situated in the Frank quarters of the towns, and
consist of well-built and spacious churches, monasteries, schools, orphan
asylums, and foundling hospitals. Pera and Galata contain a goodly
number of these establishments, as do the principal towns of European
and Asiatic Turkey. These missions are evidently well furnished with
funds, for their establishments have everywhere a prosperous appearance,
and are provided with every requisite for the purposes for which they
are intended. The religious instruction given in them is, however,
extremely illiberal, bigoted, and imparted on Jesuitical principles.
Exclusiveness and intolerance towards other creeds are openly prescribed.
“Point de salut hors de l’Eglise” is their doctrine. Considerable laxity
is allowed in moral points so long as they do not interfere with the
external duties of the community to the church. Should an individual
belonging to another creed die among the community, the rite of burial
will be refused to him by the Roman Catholic priests, but those of the
Orthodox Church will often in that case consent to perform it. Even the
marriage ceremony, unless performed in their churches, is considered by
the more bigoted portion of the Roman Catholic clergy as not binding.
This strange statement was made in my presence before a large gathering
of persons belonging to different creeds, by the superior of a Lazarist
establishment at A⸺. It was on the occasion of the marriage of two
members of the Latin community of that town, when the service was
terminated by the following short address to the married couple: “Twice
happy are you to belong to the Holy Church of Rome and to be united in
the sacred ties of matrimony within her bosom: for in the same manner
as there is no hope after life for those who do not belong to her, so
marriage is not binding out of her, but every woman who so gives herself
is not a legal wife but a concubine!” In many cases the sacrament is
refused to ladies united in marriage to persons belonging to other creeds.

The secular teaching given in the schools of these missions is limited,
and, based on the same principles as the religion, is illiberal and
narrow-minded. Much time is consecrated by the pupils to religious
recitations, prayers, and penances of no possible profit to the children.
Thus from an early age, imbued with narrow ideas and made to lose sight
of the spirit of Christianity, the Roman Catholic communities, be they
of European, Greek, or Armenian nationality, are the most bigoted,
intolerant, and exclusive of all the Christian communities of the East.

The missionaries belonging to this Church are unsurpassed in the
admirable manner in which their charitable establishments are arranged.
The homes and asylums for the poor and orphan children are for the girls
under the control of the Sisters of Charity, and for the boys under
that of the priests and monks. These are well kept, and very orderly,
the food is good and abundant, and the dress of the children solid and
befitting their condition. Hospitals are attached to each establishment,
where the sick are well cared for and destitute Europeans admitted
irrespective of creed. The good Sisters of Charity take upon themselves
the duty of watching over the patients night and day. A dispensary is
included in each mission station, where medicines and medical advice
are given gratuitously. The children reared in these establishments are
placed in situations on leaving them; but I regret to be obliged to say
that comparatively few of either sex are known to turn out honest and
respectable.

The retired lives led by these active servants of Rome do not prevent
their being very intimately connected with their respective communities
or using their all-powerful influence for good or for evil in all family
concerns. They are hardy, active, and most persevering; their personal
wants are small and their mode of living modest and unassuming. But in
spite of this they are worldly-wise, crafty, and unscrupulous as to the
means they use in obtaining their ends. Their mode of action is based
upon the principle that the end justifies the means; few, therefore,
are the scruples that will arrest their action or the dangers and
difficulties that will damp their courage or check their ardor in their
work.

All the internal regulations and arrangements of the Catholic community
are made without the Porte troubling itself much about them—indeed, to
do the Turk justice, in his high contempt for things Christian, he keeps
as much as possible out of the religious dissensions of his subjects,
and when by chance he does appear on the scene of action, by turns
persecutor, protector, or peacemaker, he is generally prompted in the
matter by one of the interested parties. An amusing incident witnessed by
one of my friends at Jerusalem well illustrates this fact. This gentleman
accompanied one of the peacemaking governors-general to the Holy City
at the time the quarrel of the possession of the little door leading to
the Sepulchre was at its highest. All the interested parties loaded the
Pasha with acts of politeness and civility, which he received with great
urbanity; but when the great question was delicately broached in the
course of conversation, he at once turned round and exclaimed, Turkish
fashion, “Oh, my soul! I pray do not open that door to me!”

There is little to be said about the Uniates, or Bulgarian Catholic
converts in Turkey. The movement in its commencement, effects, and
results may be compared to Midhat Pasha’s Constitution—a farce and
imposition from beginning to end. Like the Constitution, the Uniate
movement broke out in the midst of a hot fever of excitement and
discontent; the first was created as a palliative for Turkish misrule,
the second emanated from the mismanagement of a church. The disputes
between the Greeks and Bulgarians on the church question was at its
height when a certain number of Bulgarians, carried away by the hope of
ameliorating the actual condition of things and ultimately obtaining
their end, viz., the emancipation of the Bulgarian Church from the Greek,
accepted the nominal supremacy of the Romish Church, and by a fictitious
conversion became attached to it under the denomination of Uniates. Their
number, at first small, would probably have remained so had it not been
that some effective arguments and causes gave it a momentary impetus,
bringing it under public notice. The sensational part of the incident was
due to the exaggerated accounts given by the agents of the Propaganda
and other societies of the future triumphs of Rome in this new field of
action, and to the political advantage which the government of Napoleon
III. tried to derive from it. Monsieur Bouré, the ambassador at that
time in Turkey, greatly favored the movement, while some of the consular
agents, overstepping their instructions, held out to the Bulgarian people
the open support and protection of the French Government in favor of the
anticipated converts: “C’est ici,” said one of those zealous agents,
“C’est ici au consulat de France que la nation Bulgare doit dorénavant
tourner son regard, porter ses plaintes et demander protection!”

The most telling argument with the Bulgarian peasant to abjure his faith
was not the future benefit his soul would derive from the change nor
the value of French influence and protection, but simply the prospect
of freeing himself from all future Church impositions, and having his
children educated at the schools of the Propaganda free of cost. These
conditions were very enticing, and some thousands, yielding to the
further influence of a few of their superiors who had declared themselves
Uniates, blindly followed these as sheep following their shepherd in
search of food. They knew nothing of the dogmatic side of the question,
and cared not to inquire. The name of the Pope was substituted for that
of the Patriarch of Constantinople; the ignorant Greek or Bulgarian
priests were superseded by Polish preachers well versed in the Bulgarian
tongue, whose sermons were composed with a view to impressing the people
with a sense of the material rather than the spiritual benefits to be
derived from their apostasy. The proselytizing centres were Adrianople,
Monastir, and Salonika, where large establishments belonging to the Roman
Catholic Societies undertook the work of conversion in a very zealous
manner, and established branches in places of smaller importance in
order to give more weight to the affair and increase the confidence of
the Bulgarians in its stability. A Bulgarian monk, the best that could be
got, was pounced upon by the Fathers and sent to Rome to be consecrated
primate of the Uniates. This individual, unprepossessing in appearance
and utterly ignorant and stupid, remained at Rome in order to receive the
homage due to him as the future primate of the Uniates, and then returned
to Bulgaria, where every effort was made by the agents of the Propaganda
to give importance to the event and establish the authority of the new
primate. The poor Bulgarian Uniates, closely watched and pressed on both
sides by the Greeks and the Bulgarians, found it very hard to stand their
ground. They began to show signs of laxity of zeal, and gradually dropped
out of the newly-formed flock. This reaction took a very decided turn
after the formation of the Bulgarian national church, when the converts
_en bloc_ returned to it, leaving a few of the faithful to occupy the
benches of the deserted churches, and some orphans and beggars to people
the schools attached to them.

Thus began and ended an affair which was nothing but a joke to those
who were on the spot and behind the scenes; while the Catholic world,
judging from all the wild tales of the press on the subject, seemed to
lose their reason over it to the extent of exciting the curiosity of some
governments and greatly alarming others, until the thing died out, to
make room for more important matters.

However successful the work of conversion may be in the East when it
is carried on (as with the Romish Church) with the object of entirely
denationalizing a community and absorbing it into the proselytizing
church, it will prove a failure in the long run. In the case of the
United or Catholic Armenians, one sees another instance of the tendency
of all the subject races of the Porte whenever a question of religion
or political liberty is raised; it is to the West that one and all look
for the settlement of these questions, for support, and for protection.
European interference has been systematically imposed upon the Porte, and
has obtained ascendancy over it in proportion as the Turk has become weak
and incapable of resistance.

The Armenian nation seems to have remained united and at peace with the
Church of its adoption until the year 1587, when Pope Sixtus sent the
Bishop of Sidon as ambassador to the Armenian Melkhites, Jacobites, and
Chaldean communities, to recover them from their heresy and establish
papal authority over them; but the utmost the legate obtained at the time
was the consent of the Armenian Patriarch of Cilicia to sign a confession
of the Catholic faith according to the statutes of the Council of
Florence. In the meanwhile numerous missionaries belonging to the order
of the Jesuits and others had settled in the country with the object
of carrying on the work of conversion. It was one of these, a Jesuit,
who, a century later, converted Mechitar, the illustrious founder of the
United Armenian community, which now numbers over 40,000 souls. Mechitar
united in his person the qualities of the theologian, the scholar, and
the patriot. Yielding to persuasion, he adopted the Catholic creed and
directed all his energies to propagating it among his countrymen. His
ideas were, however, those of an enlightened man who wished to combine
conversion with mental development and liberal ideas based upon the
sound foundation of separating the civil from the religious rights,
founding a Church, Catholic in faith, but Armenian in nationality, with
a constitution free from the direct control and interference of the See
of Rome. It is impossible to say how far the project of the intrepid
convert was feasible; his enterprise met with very decided opposition
from the head of the propaganda, whose efforts were directed with
fanatical tenacity and ardor towards denationalizing and Latinizing
the new converts. Thus the community in its very origin found itself
divided into two branches—the liberal, professing the views of Mechitar,
proud of the name of Armenian, and desirous of promoting the interests
of their fatherland; and the Ultramontanes, bigoted and holding Rome as
the sole pivot on which their social, moral, and religious existence
turned. These divisions soon caused dissensions, and Mechitar, finding
the opposition of the Fathers too strong for him in his native land,
left it and went to Constantinople, where he hoped to find more liberty
and a more extended field for action. Here, also, bitter disappointment
awaited him, for he found the pressure of the European Fathers put upon
the new Church; mild persuasion and exhortation were set aside and an
earnest policy of intolerance and exclusiveness was preached to the new
community, forbidding its members to enter the churches of their fathers,
which were represented as “sanctuaries of the devil,” holding its liturgy
up to execration, and refusing absolution to those unwilling to submit
to these severe doctrines. This system of intolerance succeeded so well
with the retrograde party as to widen the breach already separating it
from the liberal, and sowed at the same time the seeds of that mortal
hatred between the United and the Gregorian Armenians that has more than
once well-nigh caused their common destruction. At this stage, while
party dissensions rendered union among the Armenian Catholics impossible,
the work of proselytism marched on, until the Gregorians, alarmed at its
rapid progress, rose in a body, and by means of hypocrisy and intrigue,
headed by their uncompromising patriarch Ephraim, obtained a firman from
the Porte ordering the banishment of all the Armenian Catholics from
Constantinople. Thus the sparks of persecution kindled by this patriarch
soon spread into a general conflagration under his successor Avidic, who,
gaining the ear and support of the Grand Mufti Feizallah, obtained decree
after decree for the persecution, confiscation, and expatriation of all
their opponents in the empire, including the Fathers. The blow was too
strong, and the sensation it created too great, for it to be passed over
by the Western powers belonging to the same Church. A French ambassador
consequently raised his voice so loudly and effectively at the Porte
as to have the obnoxious patriarch expelled and exiled to Chios; the
ill-fated dignitary, however, was not allowed to expiate his evil-doing
in peace and solitude, but, waylaid, it is believed, by some equally
unchristian Jesuit Fathers, he was kidnapped and taken to the Isle of St.
Margaret, where he died the death of a martyr.

The Porte, in its desire to right the wronged, felt ill-requited by this
act. The abduction of the Patriarch, together with other grievances,
magnified by the Gregorians, increased its discontent, and, casting its
mask of reconciliation aside, it became the open and direct persecutor
of the suspected community. The Jesuits’ house at Galata was put under
surveillance, the Armenian printing establishment was closed, and
proselytism was forbidden on pain of exile. A Hatti ordered the arrest
of all the Armenian adherents of the Romish Church. What remained of
the community continued in hiding, awaiting a favorable time for its
reappearance. Mechitar himself, suspected, distrusted, and disliked by
all parties save his own, fled from Constantinople, and, after many
vicissitudes and an unsuccessful attempt to found a monastery at Medon,
finally succeeded in doing so in the Isle of St. Lazarus, granted to him
by the republic of Venice. The monastery he there founded was of the
order of St. Benedict, and was later on approved of by a bull of Clement
XI. In this quiet refuge the learned monk established his order, which
took the name of Mechitarists after him, and has become the college, not
of orthodox catholicism, as understood and practised by the Latinized
converts, but of learning, patriotism, and liberal views and ideas in
religious matters. Scarcely had the United Armenians recovered from the
shock of this persecution than they were again, in 1759, subjected to
a fresh one set on foot as before by the Gregorians, who forced upon
them religious forms repulsive to them, backed by the active support of
the Porte. But the most critical moment for the very existence of the
community, including a considerable proportion of Franks, was the time
of the battle of Navarino. All the ill-humor and exasperation of the
Turks fell upon the unfortunate Armenian Catholics, who, represented to
the credulous Turks as traitors and spies of the Franks, were treated
accordingly, and persecution and exile, ruin and death, were once more
their lot. The principal actors in this last were an obscure sheikh who
had a tekké at Stamboul, and who by some freak of fortune had risen
to the rank of Kadi Asker, becoming far famed as Khalet Effendi, and
an individual who was pipe-bearer in the Duz-Oglou family, one of the
wealthiest of the United Armenian families.

The Porte declared that it recognized only one Armenian nation and
one Armenian religion, and invited all schismatics to abjure their
apostasy and return to the bosom of their own church and nation, on
which conditions they could alone be pardoned. This was the climax of
the evils and sufferings of the United Armenians. The Governments of
Western Europe, indignant at this rigorous treatment and the miseries
it brought upon an unfortunate community, took up its cause, and after
a prolonged dispute between the French Government and the Porte, the
determined conduct of the representative of the former power triumphed
over the intrigues of the Gregorian Armenians and the ill-will and
cruelty of the Porte; the exiles were recalled, their property restored,
and they were recognized as a separate community under a patriarch of
their own. We need not follow all the difficulties and complications
that had to be overcome before these salutary results could be obtained.
Since that epoch this community was formed into a separate body, and
owing its welfare, security, and subsequent prosperity to the protection
of France has enjoyed in peace the same rights and privileges as the
Gregorians. These privileges were further granted by the Porte under
the same pressure to the other Catholic communities. The grant of
these concessions constituted France the moral supporter and religious
protector of all the Catholics of the East, and for some years French
influence in favor of the Catholic rayahs was supreme at the Porte.

In 1831 the community began once more to consolidate itself by the
scattered members returning to their homes and re-assuming the ordinary
business of life. Much had been done in their favor, but much remained to
be done by the community itself. The first step was to frame a general
assembly, composed of representatives of the various classes of the
community by whom the national interests were discussed and debated
upon with much freedom. The result was the election of a president
who was confirmed by the Porte, and invested with temporal authority
alone. The spiritual power was conferred on a primate appointed by the
Pope. This measure was adopted in the hope of preventing one authority
from encroaching upon the other; the patriarch’s seal was divided into
three parts, which were intrusted respectively to the patriarch, the
primate, and the president of the council. Other measures were also
adopted which established the interests and influence of the Church on
a solid basis, increased the privileges of the community at large, and
greatly heightened its prestige. But dissensions and jealousies crept in,
destroyed the passing dignity of the Church, and brought it to the low
level of its adherents, making it a centre of bigotry and intolerance on
one side and of struggling efforts for enlightenment and emancipation on
the other.

Mechitar’s views and principles are held in increasing veneration by the
liberal and progressive Armenians, who believe that the future prosperity
of their country is dependent on them. Imbued with these ideas, it is
not astonishing to find that this party and that of the Propaganda and
Latinized Armenians are in a state of continual contention, undermining
the peace and prospects of the community.

In 1846, Father Minassian, a Mechitarist monk, proposed the establishment
of a society for the reconciliation of the two divisions of the nation
with the view of the furthering education and ultimate political
emancipation of the Armenians. The Conservative party, with the patriarch
at its head, rejected his plan, which, warmly taken up by the Liberal
(or as it is now called Anti-Hassounist) party led to fresh disputes and
dissensions, keeping this community for years in a continual state of
religious agitation and setting families at variance. The Anti-Hassounist
party comprises some of the most wealthy and influential families, while
the Hassounists, on the other hand, boast of the influence of their
patriarch, the approval and protection of Rome, and the assistance and
co-operation of the Propaganda; accordingly, of late years, both parties
have sallied forth from their former reserved attitude and offered to the
world of Constantinople the spectacle of a pitched battle—one side armed
with all the power that spiritual help can afford, the other bracing
itself with the force of argument and the protection and favor of the
Porte.

Hassoun and his party accepted the doctrine of the Infallibility of the
Pope, and committed their spiritual welfare and worldly concerns into
the keeping of the mother Church, trusting to her maternal care for
unlimited patronage. The Anti-Hassounists, led by Kupelian, rebelled
against this despotic arrangement, denied the Infallibility and the
right of the Church of Rome to interfere in the social and religious
organization of the community; they actually went so far as to break out
into open rebellion, and, supported and protected by Hossein Aoni Pasha
and some of his colleagues, denied the authority of the patriarch, drove
his adherents out of the schools, closed the churches, and sent away the
priests under his control, finally effecting the schism which lies under
Papal excommunication, but prospers nevertheless, and must ultimately,
as the nation advances, triumph over opposition and attain equality,
independent of the powerful and absorbing influence of the Church of Rome.

The spiritual authority of this new sect is in the keeping of a patriarch
whose election by the community is confirmed by the Porte. He enjoys the
same rights and privileges as the patriarchs of the other communities.
The patriarch of the United Armenians receives a stipend of 5000 piastres
per month, exclusive of the salaries of the officers of his chancery. The
expenses of the _bairat_, amounting to 500 piastres, are defrayed by the
community and furnished by a proportionate tax levied by the National
Council. The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy consists of the Patriarchs of
Cilicia, the Primate of Constantinople, the bishops, and the monastic and
secular clergy. The principal see is solely supported by funds provided
by the Propaganda of Rome and the “œuvres des missions.”

The priests are divided into _Vartabieds_, or doctors, and _derders_, or
ordinary priests. Some of the former may be found at the head of small
churches, aided by derders or acolytes. They occupy a modest position
in rich families, where they are employed as religious instructors of
youth and general counsellors of the family. As a class, however, their
voice in the Church is overruled by that of the clergy of the Propaganda.
The Vartabieds carry a crosier; no regular stipend is allotted to them,
but they derive their support from church fees. The regular clergy
consists of Mechitarist and Antonine monks, who have colleges at Venice,
Constantinople, and Mount Lebanon.

The national council of the United Armenians is composed of twelve lay
members called Bairatlis; their election is confirmed by the Porte.
They are unpaid, and their period of office is limited to two years,
six retiring and six resuming office annually. This council works in
conjunction with the Patriarch; it regulates all matters concerning the
civil and financial affairs of the community; it is the arbitrator and
judge of all disputes among the United Armenians. This community at
Constantinople alone numbers about 20,000 souls, forming seven parishes
in different parts of the city.

In Pera, annexed to the church of St. John Chrysostom, they possess an
infirmary for the poor and a lunatic asylum; each parish has a primary
school, and some institutes for female education exists. One of these,
founded in 1850 by the family of Duz-Oglou, is conducted by a French
lady and placed under French control; the instruction afforded is in the
French and Armenian languages.

The unfortunate duality ever present in the Church makes itself felt in
the educational department as well, and greatly impedes its progress.
The Mechitarist Fathers of St. Lazarus include in the religious and
literary instruction given in their schools the records of past Armenian
glory, inculcate a love of country, teach its language, and render its
illustrious authors familiar to the rising generation; the current
language in their institution is the Armenian. The opposition abuse and
ridicule all that is Armenian, and replace the native language by Latin
and Italian, or French; their principle is, “Let nationality perish
rather than doctrine, the holy pulpit was never established to teach
patriotism, but gospel truth.” The tutelar saints of the Armenians,
treated with the same disrespect, are replaced by saints from the Roman
calendar.

In character and disposition the United Armenians are peaceable, regular
in their habits, industrious, and fond of amassing wealth; parsimonious
and even miserly in their ideas, the love of ostentation and good-feeding
has yet a powerful effect upon their purse-strings. They are, however,
considerably in advance of the Gregorian Armenians. The youth of the
better classes are for the most part conversant with European languages
and the external forms of good society, affect European manners, and
profess liberal views. Owing to the higher educational privileges they
enjoy, they have made more progress in the arts and professions than
the Gregorian Armenians. The school of Mechitar has produced scholars
of considerable merit, but the vocation they seem specially made for is
that of banking. In all careers their success has been signal. There was
a time when the increasing wealth and prosperity of the United Armenians
was the cause of much envy and jealousy, when no European banking houses
existed in Turkey, and the financial affairs of the Ottomans were left
entirely in the hands of the Armenian bankers, who directed the mint
and regulated the finances of the government and of the Pashas. On the
change of system, the ruin of the State as well as that of most of
these families, once so wealthy, became inevitable. Should Armenia,
however, eventually become a principality, should the Mechitarist school
triumph over sectarian susceptibilities, and an understanding be arrived
at leading to a national union between the United and the Gregorian
Armenians, a considerable number of wealthy, intelligent, and earnest
men, fit to be placed at the head of a nation, and able to control
it with wisdom, prudence, and moderation, will not be wanting in both
branches of this widely scattered nation. The critical moment in the
destinies of this country has, I believe, arrived. The Armenians,
detesting the Ottoman rule, are ready to cast themselves into the arms
of any power that will offer them protection and guarantee their future
emancipation. The turning-point reached, Russia or England will have to
face them and listen to their claims. If their cause is taken up in good
time they will be saved; and the name and prestige of England, already
pretty widely spread in Armenia, will become all-powerful.


THE END.




FOOTNOTES


[1] _Leromenos_ signifies _soiled_, which among the Greeks is the highest
title of a brigand bravo, evinced in the filth of his long-worn and
unwashed _fustanella_.

[2] “Brigand Albanian!” “Bath-boy!”

[3] “Very well, we shall see, it may be done.”

[4] Turkish ethnology divides the human race into seventy-seven and a
half nations, the Jews representing the half, and the gypsies being
entirely excluded. This is clearly an improvement upon Mohammed’s
estimate of the number of different sects in Islam, etc.

[5] In August, 1875, the law of inheritance on vakouf lands was modified
and improved.

[6] Boghcha, bundle.

[7] Leyen, basin.

[8] Ibrik, jug.

[9] Pastes for soup and pilaf.

[10] Molasses made from grapes.

[11] Preserves made with molasses from fresh or dried fruits.

[12] Starch made from wheat, much used for making sweets.

[13] “How do you do?”

[14] “Valley-lord,” or feudal chief.

[15] Generally a European, who often attains to high rank and fortune.

[16] In polite language, “child of unknown paternity.”

[17] A few years ago the mother of Sultan Abdul-Aziz, desirous of
further reducing this number, brought forward an old palace regulation,
that every seraglio woman found _enceinte_ should be subjected to the
operation of artificial abortion, with the exception of the first four
wives.

[18] Under-superintendent of the harem.

[19] Should the father be unacquainted with the form of prayer, an Imam
is called in, who reads the prayer over the infant, outside the door.

[20] Old women, whose mission it is to be the bearer of invitations to
all ceremonies.

[21] Wonderful! Let it be long-lived and happy!

[22] The Italian expression “_Multi Saluti_” is the nearest approach to a
correct interpretation of this word.

[23] “Baron” signifies Mr.

[24] Wonderful!

[25] Giving rise to the Greek saying of “καμαρώνει σά νύμφἤ.”

[26] The best man and head bridesmaid, whose duty it is subsequently to
be the godfather and godmother of the children: _see_ p. 40.

[27] The following is a translation of this distich:—

    “O Maldever! O Stardever! why do you wait outside?
    Dismount thy steed and enter thy husband’s house, O bride!”

[28] These crosses are of three classes, and range in value from 100 to
500 piastres—14_s._ to 3_l._ 10_s._

[29] Blind or lame, is he or she acceptable?

[30] Sourah lvii. v. 19.

[31] Sourah xxxv. v. 44.

[32] Sourah ii. v. 275.

[33] The evil being is supposed to be of immense size, his upper lip
touching heaven, and his lower earth; and he holds in his hand a huge
iron cudgel.

[34] In some inland towns the relations continue to chant the Myriologia
all the way to the church, and afterwards to the burial-ground.

[35] H⸺ Bey, on visiting London, finding to his surprise that “sinking
underground” entered into the routine of every-day life, on returning
home, said to his mother, “_Hanoum yerin dibineh batunméh? Ben batum da
chiktum._” (“Have you ever sunk underground? I have done so, and risen
again.”)

[36] This is referred to in the first verse of a popular song:

    Φεγγαράκι μοῦ λαμπρό
    Φέγγι μοῦ νὰ προπατῶ
    Νὰ πεγαίνω’ς τὸ σχολεῖο
    Νὰ μαθαίνω γράμματα
    Τοῦ θεοῦ τὰ πράγματα

[37] Those who wish to have some idea of Bulgarian poetry will find
an interesting account of it in a work on Slav poetry by Madame Dora
d’Istria.

[38] Δεῦτέ λάβετε φῶς ἐκ τοῦ ἀνεσπέρου φωτὸς καὶ δοξάσατε Χριστὸν τὸν
ἀναστάντα ἐκ νεκρῶν.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67626 ***