[1]

Booksellers supplied with trimmed or untrimmed copies as they may indicate their preference.

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.

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[2] 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[3] 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.

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[4] 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[5] 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[6] 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 (10d.), 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[7] 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.

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[8] 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[9] 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,[10] 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.

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[11] 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:—

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[13] 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.

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[14] 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 (6d. to 1s.); 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[15] 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[16] 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,[17] 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:—

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[18] 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.

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[19] 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[20] 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 2,000l. 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.

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,[21] “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[22] 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[23] 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.

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[24] 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 1s. 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[25] 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 2000l. 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[26] 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.

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[27] 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[28] 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.

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.

[29]

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[30] 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[31] 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.

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[32] 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[33] 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[34] 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[35] 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.

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[36] 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,[37] 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 160l. 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.

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[38] 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 30l. or 40l. 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[39] 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 10l. to 12l., while the poor are enriched by it to the extent of 2l. or 3l.

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[40] 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 2l. 10s., 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.”

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[41] 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[42] 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[43] 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.

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[44] 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[45] 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[46] 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.

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[47] 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[48] 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[49] 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.

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[50] (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[51] 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[52] 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,[53] 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.

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[54] 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.

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[56] 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 (2¼d.) 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,[57] 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[58] 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.

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,[59] 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:

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[60] 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:

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:

The next Greek school contains three classes, in which three masters teach the following lessons:

In the middle school of this same town there are four classes, each subdivided into two; five masters teach the following lessons:

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.[61] 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:

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 2½d.), 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[63] 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.

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[64] 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.[65] 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’[66] 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[67] 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.

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[68] 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 6l. or 7l. 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[69] 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.

[70]

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[71] 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.

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[72] 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[73] 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[74] 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.[75] 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.”

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[76] 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[77] 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[78] 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[79] 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.