Twenty Years' Residence among the People of Turkey: Bulgarians, Greeks, Albanians, Turks, and Armenians

by Fanny Janet Sandison Blunt

ARMENIAN WEDDINGS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XVII.
FUNERAL CEREMONIES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The following is a description of the funeral ceremonies observed in Macedonia and in other parts of European Turkey.

At the approach of death a priest is sent for to administer the sacrament to the sick man. The family gather round the couch, give the dying person the kiss of farewell, and press down his eyelids when his soul has departed. His couch and linen are changed, and after being anointed with oil and wine, and sprinkled with earth, he is dressed in his most gorgeous apparel upon a table covered with a linen cloth, with the feet pointing towards the door, with hands crossed on the breast, and limbs stretched out to their full extent. A stone is placed in the room and left there for three days. Friends watch round the body, chanting Myriologia,[34] or dirges, lamenting his loss and illustrating his life and the cause of his death. Tapers are kept burning all night round the body, which is decorated with flowers and green branches. A cup is placed on the body and buried with it; after the expiration of three years it is taken out and treasured in the family. Should a person suffer from the effects of fright, water is given to him in this cup without his knowledge, which is supposed to prevent any ill consequences. The interment usually takes place on the day following the death. Invited friends assemble at the house of mourning, the priests arrive, and the coffin, uncovered, is wreathed with flowers. The obol of the ancients, the ναῦλον for Charon, is not forgotten; a small coin is placed between the lips, and a cake, soaked in wine, is eaten by the company, who say, Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τόν. After the preliminary prayers have been offered, the funeral procession proceeds to the church. Crosses are carried by the clergy and lighted tapers by others. The coffin is borne on the shoulders of men, and black streamers, ταινια, attached to it are held by the elders of the community or the persons of greatest importance present.

Prayers are chanted as the funeral train slowly proceeds to the church, where the body is placed in the nave. When the prayers and funeral mass are concluded, the priest tells the relatives and intimate friends of the deceased to give him the farewell kiss. On arriving at the cemetery, the bier is placed by the side of the grave, the last prayers are offered, the coffin-lid is nailed down, and the body is lowered into the earth. After the priest has thrown in a spadeful of gravel in the form of a cross, the spade is passed to the relatives, who do the same in turn, with the words Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τὴν ψυχὴν τοῦ (“God rest his soul”). The bier is then again covered with the pall, and the grave is filled up. On returning to the house of sorrow, water and towels are offered to the guests for washing their hands. They then sit down to a repast, at which fish, eggs, and vegetables alone are eaten.

The mourning worn by Greeks is similar to that of other European nations; all ornaments, jewelry, and colored apparel are set aside, and both sexes dress in plain black, and in some instances dress their furniture in covers of the same mournful hue. The men often let their beards grow as a sign of sorrow, and women frequently cut off their hair at the death of their husbands, and bury it with them; I have known many instances of this custom. In Epirus and Thessaly a widow would lose respect if she contracted a second marriage, and in other parts it would be strictly prohibited by custom.

On the evenings of the third, ninth, twentieth, and fortieth days, masses are said for the soul of the departed. These are called kolyva. On the fortieth kolyva, two sacks of flour are made into bread, and a loaf sent to every family of friends as an invitation to the service held in the church. Boiled wheat is placed on a tray, and ornamented, if for a young person, with red and white sugar; if for an elderly person, with white only. This is sent to the church previously, prayers are read over it, and every person takes a handful, saying Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τόν, and a small bottle of wine is presented to the priests.

On the following morning the friends assemble at the house of mourning, and take more boiled wheat to church. On returning, they sit down to a meal, after again saying Ὁ θεὸς συγχωρήσει τόν. This concluded, they proceed to the grave, accompanied by the priest, and erect a tombstone. A feast is subsequently given to the poor.

Tapers are kept burning in the house for forty days. On the last of these a list of the ancestors of the deceased is read, and prayers are offered for their souls. These ceremonies are repeated at intervals during the space of three years, at the expiration of which the tomb is opened, and if the body is sufficiently decomposed, the bones are collected in a cloth, placed in a basket, dressed in fine raiment, adorned with flowers, and taken to church, where they are left for nine days. Every evening the relatives go to say prayers, and take boiled wheat to the church. If the person had been of some standing, twelve priests and a bishop perform mass. The bones are then put in a box, surmounted by a cross, and replaced in the tomb.

Should the body not be sufficiently decomposed at the end of the three years, it is supposed to be possessed, and for three years longer the same prayers and ceremonies are repeated.

The funeral ceremonies of the Bulgarians differ from those of the Greeks only in their preliminary usages. The religious service is very similar. The sacrament is administered to the dying person, and his last hours are cheered by the presence of relatives and friends.

After death he is laid upon a double mattress between sheets, and completely dressed in his gala costume, with new shoes and stockings. A pillow of home-spun is filled with handfuls of earth by all the persons present, and placed under the head.

A curious idea prevails that messages can be conveyed by the departing soul to other lost friends by means of flowers and candles, which are deposited on a plate placed on the breast of the corpse.

An hour after death a priest comes to read prayers for the dead, tapers are lighted, and dirges chanted until the following morning, when the clergy again arrive to accompany the body to its last resting-place. Mass is performed in the church, and when the procession reaches the grave a barrel of wine is opened, and boiled wheat, with loaves, are distributed to all present, who say Bogda prosti (“God have mercy on his soul”). The gay costume is taken off, and libations of oil and wine poured on the body; the shroud is drawn over the face, the coffin nailed down and lowered into the grave.

Returning to the house of mourning, the company wash their hands over the fire, and three days afterwards everything in the house is washed. The objects that cannot be washed are sprinkled with water and exposed to the air for three days, given to the poor, or sold.

The ceremonies of the kolyva are the same as among the Greeks, and the bones are disinterred at the end of three years, with the same observances.

CHAPTER XVIII.
EDUCATION AMONG THE MOSLEMS.

Home Education.—Influence of the Mother—Disrespect of Children—Toys—No Bath nor any Exercise—Bad Influence of Servants—No Discipline—Dirtiness—Dress—Food—Conversation—Tutors—Nurses—Immoral Influence of the Dadi—The Lala—Turkish Girls and Education—An Exceptional Family—Turks “educated” at Paris—Religious Shackles.

Moslem Schools.—Mektebs, or National Schools—Dogmatic Theology taught—Reforms—Rushdiyés—Idadiyés—Teachers’ School—Reforms of Ali and Fouad Pasha—The Schools of Salonika—State of Education in these Schools—Moslem View of Natural Science—The Dulmé Girls’ School—The Turkish Girls’ School—The Lyceum: its Design, Temporary Success, and Present Abandonment—The Medressés—Education of the Upper Classes—Official Ignorance.

The absence of any approach to sound education of the most rudimentary kind throughout the country is among the prime causes of the present degraded condition of the Turks. Both at home and at school the Moslem learns almost nothing that will serve him in good stead in after life. Worse than this, in those early years spent at home, when the child ought to have instilled into him some germ of those principles of conduct by which men must walk in the world if they are to hold up their heads among civilized nations, the Turkish child is only taught the first steps towards those vicious habits of mind and body which have made his race what it is. The root of the evil is partly found in the harem system. So long as that system keeps Turkish women in their present degraded state, so long will Turkish boys and girls be vicious and ignorant.

Turkish mothers have not the slightest control over their children. They are left to do very much as they like, become wayward, disobedient, and unbearably tyrannical. I have often noticed young children, especially boys, strike, abuse, and even curse their mothers, who, helpless to restrain them, either respond by a torrent of foul invective, or, in their maternal weakness, indulgently put up with it, saying, “Jahil chojuk, né belir?” (“Innocent child! what does it know?”)

I was once visiting at a Pasha’s house, where, among the numerous company present, a shrivelled-up old lady made herself painfully conspicuous by the amount of rouge on her cheeks. The son of my hostess, an impudent little scamp of ten years, independently marched in, and, roughly pulling his mother by her skirt, demanded a beshlik (shilling); she attempted a compromise, and offered half the sum, when the young rascal, casting side glances at the painted old lady, said, “A whole beshlik, or I will out with all you said about that hanoum and her rouged cheeks, as well as that other one’s big nose!” My friend, exceedingly embarrassed, under this pressure, acceded to her son’s demand, the only way she could see of getting rid of his troublesome company.

As a general rule the manner in which children use their mothers among the lower classes is still worse, and quite painful to witness. When these youngsters are not at school they may be seen playing in the street, paddling in the water near some fountain, making mud-pies, or playing with walnuts and stones, at times varying their amusements, in some retired quarter, by annoying Christian passers-by, calling out Giaour gepek! (“Infidel dog”), and throwing stones at them. Under the parental roof they express their desires in an authoritative tone, calling out disrespectful exclamations to their mothers.

Should their requests meet with the slightest resistance, they will sit stamping with their feet, pounding with their hands, clamoring and screaming, till they obtain the desired object. The mothers, who have as little control over themselves as over their children, quickly lose their temper, and begin vituperating their children in language of which a very mild but general form is, Yerin dibiné batasen! (“May you sink under the earth!”)[35]

Turkish children are not favored with the possession of any of the instructive books, toy-tools, games, etc., that European ingenuity has invented for the amusement of children, and which may be obtained at Constantinople and other cities of Turkey; the only playthings they possess are rattles, trumpets, a rude species of doll (made of rag-bundles), cradles, and a kind of polichinello, fashioned, in the most primitive manner, of wood, and decorated with a coarse daub of bright-colored paint, applied without any regard to artistic effect. These are sometimes sold in the chandlers’ shops, but are only exposed for sale in large quantities during the Bairams, when they make their appearance, piled in heaps on a mat, in the thoroughfares nearest the mosques.

A Turkish child is never known to take a cold bath in the morning; is never made to take a constitutional walk, or to have his limbs developed by the healthy exercise of gymnastics. No children’s libraries exist, to stimulate the desire for study—for which, it is true, little taste is displayed. Among the higher classes an unnaturally sedate deportment is expected from children when in the presence of their father and his guests, before whom they present themselves with the serious look and demeanor of old men, make a deep salaam, and sit at the end of the room with folded hands, answering with extreme deference the questions addressed to them. Out of sight, and in the company of menials, they have no restraint placed upon them, use the most licentious language, and play nasty practical jokes; or indulge in teasing the women of the harem to any extent; receiving all the time the most indecent encouragement, both by word and action, from the parasites, slaves, and dependants hanging about the house. No regular hours are kept for getting up and going to bed. The children, even when sleepy, obstinately refuse to go to their beds, and prefer to stretch themselves on a sofa, whence they are carried fast asleep. On rising, no systematic attention is paid either to their food, ablutions, or dressing. A wash is given to their faces and hands; but their heads, not regularly or daily combed, generally afford shelter to creeping guests, that can only be partially dislodged at the Hammam.

Their dress, much neglected, is baggy and slovenly at all times; but it becomes a ridiculous caricature when copied from the European fashion; shoes and stockings are not much used in the house, but when worn, the former are unfastened, and the latter kept up by rags hanging down their legs. A gedjlik (night-dress) of printed calico, an intari (dressing-gown), ayak-kab (trousers), and a libardé (quilted jacket), worn in the house, do duty both by night and day.

Children are allowed to breakfast on anything they find in the larder or buy from the hawkers of cakes in the streets.

No person exercising the functions of governess, nursery governess, or head nurse, exists in harems. There is no reserve of language observed before young girls, who are allowed to listen to conversations in which spades are very decidedly called spades. The absence of refined subjects naturally leads the tone of these conversations, at times, to so low a level as to render its sense quite unintelligible to the European listener, though it is perfectly understanded of the Turkish maiden.

Turks sometimes have hodjas as tutors for their sons; but these are not always professional instructors of youth, and their supervision over their pupils seldom extends beyond the hours of study. The hodjas, belonging to religious orders, are grave, sanctimonious persons; having little in common with their pupils, who find it difficult to exchange ideas with them, and thus to benefit in a general way by their teaching. Poor effendis or kyatibs are sometimes engaged to fill the office of tutors, but their inferior position in the house deprives them of any serious control over their charges. The dadi, appointed to attend upon the child from its earliest infancy, plays a great part during its youthful career; her charge, seldom separated from her, will, if she be good and respectable, benefit by her care; but if she be the reverse, her influence cannot be anything but prejudicial, especially to boys, whose moral education, entirely neglected at this stage, receives a vicious impulse from this associate. The fact that the dadi’s being the property of his parents gives him certain rights over her is early understood and often abused by the boy.

I have seen an instance of the results of these boyish connections in the house of a Pasha, who, as a child, had formed a strong attachment for his dadi, and, yielding to her influence, had later been induced to marry her, although at the time she must have been more than double his age. When I made her acquaintance she was an old woman, superseded by four young companions, whose lives she made as uncomfortable as she could by way of retaliation for the pain her husband’s neglect was causing her. The fourth and youngest of these wives, naturally the favorite, nearly paid with her life for the affection she was supposed to have diverted from the Bash Kadin (first wife); for the quondam dadi, taking advantage of her rival’s unconsciousness whilst indulging in a siesta, tried to pour quicksilver into her ears. The fair slumberer fortunately awoke in time; and the attempted crime was passed over in consideration of the culprit’s past maternal services, and of the position she then held.

Next to the important functions of dadi those of lala must be mentioned. He is a male slave into whose care the children of both sexes are intrusted when out of the harem. He has to amuse them, take them out walking, and to school and back. His rank, however, does not separate him from his fellow servants, with whom he still lives in common; and when the children come to him, he takes them generally first to their father’s apartment, and then into the servants’ hall, where they are allowed to witness the most obscene practical jokes, often played upon the children themselves; and to listen to conversations of the most revolting nature, only to be matched I should think in western Europe among the most degraded inhabitants of the lowest slums. This is one of those evil customs that cannot be other than ruinous to the morality of Turkish children, who thus from an early age get initiated into subjects and learn language of which they should for years be entirely ignorant.

The girls are allowed free access into the selamlik up to the time they are considered old enough to wear the veil; which, once adopted, must exclude a female from further intercourse with the men’s side of the house. The shameful neglect girls experience during childhood leaves them alone to follow their own instincts; alternately spoiled and rudely chastened by uneducated mothers, they grow up in hopeless ignorance of every branch of study that might develop their mental or moral faculties and fit them to fulfil the duties that must in time devolve upon them.

I am glad to say that, in this respect, a change for the better is taking place at Constantinople: the education of the girls among the higher classes is much improved; elementary teaching, besides instruction in music and needlework, is given to them; and a few are even so highly favored as to have European governesses, who find their pupils wanting neither in intelligence nor in good-will to profit by their instruction. I have known Turkish girls speak foreign languages, but the number of such accomplished young ladies is limited, owing partly to the dislike which even the most enlightened Turks feel to allowing their daughters any rational independence; for the girls, they say, are destined to a life of harem restraint with which they would hardly feel better satisfied if they had once tasted of liberty; their life would only be less happy, instead of happier; ignorance in their case being bliss, it would be folly to make them wise!—If true, only another argument for the overthrow of the system.

Some time ago, when at Constantinople, I visited an old friend, a Christian by birth, but the wife of a Pasha. This lady, little known to the beau monde of Stamboul, a most ladylike, sweet woman, was married when her husband was a student in Europe and she a school-girl. She has held fast to her religion, and her enlightened husband has never denied her the rights of her European liberty; though, when in the capital, she wears the yashmak, out of convenance. Her children are Mohammedans. The daughter, now a young lady of eighteen, a most charming, accomplished girl, is justly named “The Budding Rose of the Bosphorus.” Some Turkish ladies acquainted with this family spoke of it to me as an example of perfection worthy of study and imitation. A truly poetical attachment binds the mother and daughter together, and finding no congeniality in their Mohammedan acquaintances, in the simplicity of their retired life they have become all in all to each other, and are doted upon by the father and brother. It was very pleasant to look upon the harmony that existed in this family, notwithstanding the wide differences in the customs and religions of its members. For many years I had lost sight of my friends, and at length found them caged up in one of the lovely villas on the Bosphorus; the mother now a woman of forty, the daughter a slim, bright fairy.

After the surprise caused by my visit and the friendly greetings were over, Madame B⸺, full of delight and happiness, related to me the engagement of her daughter to one of the wealthiest and most promising grandees of La Jeune Turquie, who, having just completed his studies in Paris, was expected in a few days to come and claim her as his bride. She was to dwell beneath the paternal roof, and I was taken to visit the apartments that had been prepared for the young couple. They were most exquisitely furnished, with draperies of straw-colored satin, richly embroidered by the deft fingers of the ladies. The mother, her face beaming with joy, said to me, “Am I not happy in marrying my daughter to an enlightened young Turk, who, there is every reason to expect, will prove as good and affectionate a husband to her as mine has been to me?”

The young lady had known her affianced before his departure for Paris; full of faith and hope, she nourished a deep love for him, and, in the innocent purity of her heart, felt sure he responded to it.

I have not seen these ladies since, but a short time after my visit I was deeply grieved to hear that this seemingly well-adapted match was broken off in consequence of the young Bey having returned accompanied by a French ballet-dancer, whom he declared he did not intend to give up.

I have heard that, generally speaking, Paris is not the most profitable school for young Turks. Attracted by the immense amount of pleasure and amusement there afforded to strangers, they become negligent students, waste their time and money in profitless pursuits, keep company of the most doubtful kind, are led to contract some of the worst Parisian habits, and return to their country, having acquired little more than a superficial varnish of European manners. These they proudly display; but at heart they profoundly despise the nation whose virtues they failed to acquire, whilst they plunged freely into those vices which were more congenial to their habits and nature.

Those who are acquainted with Stamboul life may remember the sensation caused in 1873 by a band of young Turkish ruffians, who bore the name of Tussun, whose declared object was to initiate the youth of both sexes into those dark practices of the Asiatics still so prevalent among the upper classes. This abominable society was so strong that the police were, for a time, powerless against it. The chief of these vagabonds was stated to be the son of a member of the Sultan’s household, and the other young men were connected with some high Turkish families. It was only by the most active interference of the minister of justice that this fraternity was finally put down.

One of the great drawbacks the progress of education meets with among the Turks is the insurmountable repulsion Mohammedans feel to freeing this movement from the fetters of religion. The most enlightened of Turks will be found wanting in good-will and assistance when the question is that of promoting the current of liberal ideas at the cost of the religious dogmas which regulate all his social habits; and these retrograde notions cannot be openly repudiated even by those who profess no belief in the religion upon which they are supposed to be founded. These sceptical Turks, possessing no distinct conception of any philosophical school whose aim should be to replace prejudice and superstition by the propagation of free thought, based upon morality and scientific research, merely become reckless and unprincipled, but are of no more use than the bigoted party in helping forward an undenominational movement in education.

Until quite recent times the only public institutions for the education of the Turkish youth were those common to all Moslem countries, the Mahallé Mektebs, or primary schools, and the Medressés, or Mosque-Colleges. The Mektebs are to Turkey, though in a still more inefficient way, what the old National Schools were to England. They are the universal, and till recently the only existing, instruments of rudimentary education for the children of both sexes of all classes. Like the old-fashioned National Schools, religion is the main thing taught; only in the Turkish Mektebs religion is pretty nearly the one thing taught. The little Turkish boys and girls are sent to these schools at a very early age, and pay for their instruction the nominal fee of one piastre (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, a school teaching foreign languages to some of the employés of the Porte, a forest school, and one for mechanics.

The original organization of all these institutions is said to be good, but unfortunately the regulations are not carried out. The absence of a proper system of control and strict discipline, a want of attention on the part of the students, and of competence on that of the professors, are the chief characteristics of most of them.

In addition to the educational establishments of the capital, Rushdiyés have also been opened in all large country towns, and in some even Idadiyés. It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to state that there are no schools of any kind in country villages; the three R’s are there regarded as wholly superfluous luxuries.

Had the Turks followed up more systematically the movement thus happily begun; had it become general throughout the country, and been marked by proper care and perseverance, many of the evils which now beset Turkey might perhaps have been avoided. The contempt for the Christian generally displayed by the Moslem, engendered through ignorance and fanaticism, might have been softened into tolerance, and a more friendly feeling might have been created between them.

Education, however, received another impetus during the administration of Ali and Fouad Pashas, who by their united efforts succeeded in creating new schools and slightly improving those already existing.

Most of these institutions, excepting the medical college, were formerly open to Christian children only in name; under Ali and Fouad they became open in reality to a few, who took their places by the side of the Mohammedan boys.

The following is a list of the Turkish schools in the town of Salonika, which contains about 15,000 Mohammedan inhabitants, including 2500 Dulmés, or Jews converted to the faith of the Prophet:—seven Mahallé Mektebs, or “National” schools; one Mekteb Rushdiyé, or Government school; one small private school for Turkish girls, established about twelve mouths ago; and two special schools for the Dulmés, one for girls and another for boys. The Mekteb Rushdiyé is supported by the Government, and has one superintendent and two masters, and is attended by 219 children, all day pupils. Teaching is divided into four classes; the first comprises poetry, the Turkish, Arabic, and Persian languages; the second, logic, mathematics, elementary arithmetic, and the rudiments of geography; the third, cosmography, Ottoman and universal history, writing; the fourth, preparatory lessons for beginners.

The mathematical and historical teaching is very deficient, and the whole system of instruction needs much improvement. Students on leaving this school may enter the Harbiyé, or military school, at Monastir, or continue their studies at the Medressé, where the Softas and Ulema graduate, or may attach themselves to some Government office as unsalaried Kyatibs, or scribes, called Chaouch, until a vacancy or some other chance helps them to a lucrative post.

The Dulmés, who are found in large numbers only at Salonika, have of late years shown a great desire to promote education among both sexes of their small but thriving community. The course of study followed in their boys’ school is similar to that of the Rushdiyé, and, of course, includes the very elementary curriculum of the National schools. It has four classes, subdivided each into three forms; three masters, aided by monitors, superintend the studies. I visited this school, and found a great lack of order and discipline. First-class boys, seated on benches and before desks, were mixed up with the little ones, who, I was told, were placed there in order to be broken in to the school routine—a strange arrangement, unlikely to benefit either; at least it had been better for these mere infants to be placed in a class where lessons and exercises suited to their years were taught. Some of the big boys were examined, and, as far as I was able to judge, seemed well advanced in writing and in the knowledge of the Turkish language, but they did not appear equally well versed in mathematics or the scientific branches of study, which were evidently taught in a very elementary form, if one might judge by the simple questions put by the masters. This examination was concluded by the senior boys chanting in chorus the names of the days of the week and the months of the year! It must be borne in mind, however, that this establishment, which is said to be the best in the town, was opened only eighteen months ago.

With regard to the higher branches of study, I was far more edified during an examination of the Rushdiyé and Harbiyé schools at Adrianople, where some of the pupils had produced well-executed maps and drawings, and had also distinguished themselves in mathematics; the schools of that town seemed to be of a higher standard than those of Salonika, although, like all Turkish schools, they left much to be desired in good principles, refinement, and general enlightenment, to all of which a marked disregard is universally displayed. The comparative progress made in the above-mentioned subjects should not, however, be considered a criterion of the cultivation of art and science in general. In spite of the simplicity with which these various branches of science and of art may now be taught, they are not likely to make much advancement among the Mohammedans. These people display an astonishing apathy and a total absence of the spirit of inquiry and research with regard to everything. They confide the secrets of nature, to the supreme care of Allah, and deem it superfluous to trouble themselves with such subjects beyond the extent required for their common wants. All mental effort is in direct opposition to the listless habits of the Turk, and, since he is not the man to run against the will of Providence, who fashioned his disposition, is therefore seldom attempted. Professional men are rare among them, and such as there are can only be ranged in the class of imitative mediocrities, who have not the genius to improve or develop any useful branch of science.

The Dulmé girls’ school of Salonika was held in a house containing a number of small rooms, in which the pupils were huddled together. One of these rooms was fitted up with desks and benches that might have accommodated about thirty children; when I entered all the pupils were doing needlework; Shemshi Effendi, the director, a young man of some enterprise and capacity and a good deal of intelligence, led the way and ordered all to stand up and salaam; a lesson I hope they will condescendingly bear in mind and practise later on in life in their intercourse with Christians. They were learning plain sewing, crochet, tapestry, and other ornamental work, taught by a neat-looking Greek schoolmistress. A good many of the pupils were grown-up girls, who sat with veils on. The master pointed them out to me, saying that most of those young ladies were engaged to be married; “I have not, therefore, attempted to teach them reading or writing, as they are too old to learn, and their time here is very short, but with the little ones I hope in time to do more.” Some of the latter were examined before me in reading, writing, and arithmetic, in which they seemed to have got on very fairly considering the short time they had attended the school and the utter want of order and system prevailing in it.

The general appearance of the girls was that of negligent untidiness; their hair was uncombed, and most of them were seated on the ground working, with a total absence of that good breeding which was to be expected in a well-regulated school for girls of their age and condition.

Defective as this establishment is, it is deserving of praise and encouragement as a first attempt which may lead to a higher standard of education among Turkish women. Perhaps some of the institutions at Stamboul, though now greatly improved, had no higher origin. Conversing lately about these with an intelligent Turk, I was assured that some of the young Turkish girls had so much profited by the education afforded in them as to have made great progress in composition and even novel-writing, an unprecedented event in the lives of the ladies of this nation! Some have devoted themselves to the study of French, and have translated one or two little French works into Turkish. One of these institutions has now become a training college for teachers, who are sent as mistresses into other schools.

The Turkish girls’ school of Salonika is attended by forty-eight pupils, superintended by one master, and a Greek schoolmistress for needlework. It is hardly necessary to say that the instruction afforded is very defective, and can be of little practical use to young girls who often, after a few years of childhood, leave when they attain the age of ten or eleven, just when their young minds are beginning to take in what is taught them. However, a little is always better than nothing, and it is to be hoped that the Salonika girls’ schools will pave the way to more effective means of teaching.

Excepting one or two schools founded by Midhat Pasha, in the vilayet of the Danube, no other Moslem girls’ schools but these at Stamboul and Salonika exist in Turkey. It must be the vegetating existence of these few establishments that has caused the flowing pen of one writer on Bulgaria to scatter girls’ schools profusely all over the country, placing one even in the remotest village of the Balkans; in all these schools, according to him, girls are everywhere taught to read and write! The statement is, unfortunately, only another proof of the accuracy of the saying, that a thing may be too good to be true.

The foundation of the Lyceum at Constantinople, decided upon in 1868, was due to Ali and Fouad Pashas. The object of this institute was to spread knowledge and education throughout the country, irrespective of creed and nationality, and thus to attempt to break through the mischievous routine of separate education, and to bring together all the youth of Turkey with the view to establishing better relations between the different races, creeds, and parties. The task was not an easy one. The history of the opposition encountered by the director and professors at the opening of the college will give a slight idea of the difficulties and obstacles the Government itself meets with in the management of its subjects.

One hundred and fifty purses were voted for the Lyceum, to be expended for the benefit of all Ottoman subjects, whether Moslems, Catholic or Gregorian Armenians, Roman Catholics, Greeks, Bulgarians, or Jews. Foreign subjects were only admitted on the payment of fees.

It was intended to establish branches of the Lyceum in the principal towns, but this project was soon given up. The administration, as well as the direction of the greater part of the studies, was confided to French functionaries, chosen by the Minister of Public Instruction in France, subject to the approval of the Turkish Minister of the same department. The lessons were to be given in French, and comprised literature, history, geography, elementary mathematics, and physical science. The Arabic, Persian, and Turkish languages were to be taught by Turkish professors. Greek and Latin were to be taught, partly to facilitate the acquisition of a knowledge of scientific terms, and partly because Greek was of daily utility to the greater part of the students.

The Mohammedan religious instruction was confided to an Imam, but the spirit of tolerance had gained sufficient ground in the customs of the establishment to allow its members to practise their different creeds at will amidst their comrades, and it is said to have been a most interesting sight to witness their devotions.

In spite of (or rather on account of) the liberality and tolerance of the original bases of this institute, and the constant endeavor of the directors to accommodate these bases as much as possible to the habits and ideas of the members of the different races there represented, none seemed to feel the satisfaction and content that was expected. The Mohammedans naturally demanded that the Koran laws and its exhortations regarding prayer, ablutions, the fasting of Ramazan by day and the feasting by night, should be respected. The Jews, rigid observers of their traditions, rebelled against the idea of their children being placed in an institute directed by Christians, and of their partaking in common of food that was Tourfa, or unlawful. The Greeks followed, complaining that their language was not sufficiently admitted into the course of studies; and the well-to-do members of that community abstained from sending their children there. The Roman Catholics had religious scruples caused by a special prohibition of the Pope, and were under pain of deprivation of the sacraments if they placed their children in an infidel institution. Armenian pretension required that special attention should be paid to the children belonging to that community, and the Bulgarians demanded that a strict line should be drawn between their children and those of the Greeks.

Next to this came the difficulty about the Day of Rest: the Turks claiming Friday, the Jews Saturday, and the Christians Sunday; allied to this point of dispute was that of the observance of the religious and national festivals, all falling on different days. Even the masters themselves, Turks, Armenians, English and French men, Greeks and Italians, by the variety of nationalities they represented, still further complicated the matter.

On the other hand, in a country where education is so expensive and so difficult to obtain as it is in Turkey, there were not wanting liberal-minded people who were willing to pass over these niceties for the sake or the counterbalancing advantages; and at the opening of the Lyceum, 147 Mohammedan, 48 Gregorian Armenian, 86 Greek, 34 Jew, 34 Bulgarian, 23 Roman Catholic, and 19 Armenian Catholic students applied for admission, forming a total of 341.

At the end of two years their numbers were almost doubled, for as long as Ali and Fouad Pashas had the direction the institution continued to prosper and to give satisfaction to those who had placed their children in it; but after the death of these true benefactors of Turkey everything changed for the worse.

The French director, disgusted with the intrigues that surrounded him and the interference he then met with in the performance of his functions, sent in his resignation and returned to Villa Franca; and within a month 109 pupils were withdrawn.

The post of director was successively filled by men whose mismanagement provoked so much discontent as to cause the still greater reduction in the number of students from 640 to 382.

The following extract from an article by M. de Salve in the Revue des Deux Mondes, 15th Oct., 1874, contains a pretty correct estimate of the talent, capacity, and general good conduct of the pupils that attended the Lyceum:

“After three years in the month of June, 1871, eight pupils of the Lyceum received the French decree of Bachelier des Sciences before a French Commission, and in the following years similar results were obtained.

“When the starting-point is considered and the progress made reflected upon, it will be admitted that it was impossible to foresee, or hardly to hope, for success. The degree that was attained bears testimony to the value and devotion of the masters as much as to the persevering industry and good-will of the pupils. In general, the progress made in the various branches of study, and particularly in that of the French language, and in the imitative art, has surpassed all our hopes, and in this struggle of emulation between pupils of such varied extractions, the most laudable results have been accomplished.

“We should then be wrong in looking upon the Eastern races as having become incapable of receiving a serious intellectual culture, and condemning them to final and fatal inaction. It may be interesting to know which nationalities have produced the most intelligent and best-conducted pupils. In these respects the Bulgarians have always held the first rank, and after them the Armenians, then the Turks and Jews, and lastly, I regret to say, the Roman Catholics. The Greeks, in addition to some good characters, presented a great many bad ones.”

The supremacy of the Bulgarians is a fine augury for the coming state of things; and that the Greeks and Roman Catholics should not have greatly distinguished themselves need not surprise us; for all the children of the better classes of these communities are educated in schools kept by professors of their own persuasion. One of the reasons why the Lyceum has been abandoned by the majority of the Christian pupils is its removal to Stamboul, which made it very difficult for their children to attend, together with the radical changes which have taken place in its administration and in the tone, which has now become quite Turkish.

In describing the improvements effected by Ali and Fouad Pashas upon the old Moslem Mekteb, we have been led away from the other primeval Moslem institution, the Medressé, or Mosque College. These Medressés, supported by the funds of the mosques to which they are attached, are the universities where the Softas and Ulema, and lower down the Imams and Kyatibs, study, and, so to speak, graduate. The subjects taught are much the same as in the Medressés of other Mohammedan countries. Language and theology are the main things in the eye of the Ulema (or Dons) of a Medressé. Language means grammar, rhetoric, poetry, calligraphy, and what not, in Arabic, and (though less essentially) in Persian and Turkish. Theology includes the interpretation of the Koran and traditions; and when we have said that we have said enough for one lifetime, as every one knows who knows anything of Arab commentators and traditionists and recommentators and traditionists commentated. Theology, it should however be added, of course includes Moslem law, since both are bound together in the Koran and the traditions of Mohammed. It may easily be conceived that the instruction in these Medressés was and is always of a stiff conservative sort, not likely to advance in any great degree the cause of general enlightenment in Turkey. Still, since all the scholars and statesmen of the country were, until quite lately, invariably educated at the Medressés, it cannot be denied that they have done service in their time. Whatever historians, poets, or literary men Turkey can boast of more than a generation back, to the Medressés be the credit! In the case of statesmen the result of this training has not always been very happy. It is not satisfactory to know that in quite recent times a Minister of Public Instruction (of the old school), sitting upon a commission for looking into the state of the schools of Turkey, on being shown some maps and some mathematical problems executed by the pupils, appeared entirely ignorant of their meaning, and exclaimed, “Life of me! Mathematics, geography, this, that, and the other, what use is such rubbish to us?”

Now, however, the highest classes send their sons to Paris and elsewhere to be educated. The effect of this training upon La Jeune Turquie I have already noticed. In some cases it must, nevertheless, be admitted that the Turk educated in Europe has really made good use of his time, and has raised himself, as near as his nature permits, to the level of the more civilized nations he has associated with.

Such is the general state of education in Turkey. Brought up, first by an ignorant mother, then by the little less ignorant Hodja of the Mekteb, or, in rarer cases, by the well-meaning but still incompetent masters of the Government schools, it is not surprising that the ordinary Turk is crafty, ignorant, and correspondingly fanatical. Yet dark as the present position is, it is better than it was a few years ago. The efforts of Ali and Fouad Pashas have certainly given education a forward impulse. The advance has been slow, but it has been forward, not backward. In this advance the Turks have shared far less than the subject races. Were things as they were two years ago, this could hardly be taken as a hopeful sign; but, looking at it from the opposite point of view, that the Bulgarians and Greeks have advanced more than the Turks, it must be admitted, in the new arrangement of the provinces now negotiating, that the fact carries a bright ray of hope.

CHAPTER XIX.
EDUCATION AMONG THE GREEKS AND BULGARIANS.

The Turkish Conquest and Greek Schools—Monasteries almost the sole Preservers of Letters—Movement of the last Half-Century—Athenian Teaching and Its Influence on Turkey—Education of the Greeks at Constantinople—Μνημόσυνα—Salonika Girls’ Schools—Boys’ Schools—A Greek School based upon Mr. Herbert Spencer—The Past and the Present of the Greeks—Bulgarian Ignorance—Birth of a Desire for Knowledge—A Report from a Bulgarian Young Lady—The First Bulgarian Book—Bulgarian Authors—Schools—Church Supervision—Loyalty to the Sultan—Bulgarian Language—Schoolmasters and their Reforming Influence—Bulgarian Intelligence—American Missionaries.

It was not to be expected that the immense progress made by Greece during the past half century in education would exercise no influence upon the Greeks in Turkey. The people of the kingdom of Greece, secure of their own freedom, released from that servile condition to which centuries of oppressive misrule had reduced them, and become citizens of a liberty-loving country, have for the past twenty years been using every effort to promote the cause of liberty by the spread of education among their brethren still in subjection to the Porte. When the Turks conquered the Greek provinces, they did their best to extinguish education among their Christian subjects: the Greek schools were suppressed, new ones prohibited, and the Greek children had to be taught during the night.[36] But the monasteries, nests of ignorance and vice as they were, were the principal refuges of letters. Scattered all over the empire, they enjoyed the privileges drawn from the special liberty and favor granted by the wise Sultan to the Greek clergy. This was done by the Sultan with the view of acquiring unlimited control over the Greek rayahs, by giving a just sufficient amount of power to a small but influential body of men, to induce them to support his designs. Mount Athos, one of these privileged asylums, became a famous resort of the retired clergy. A college of some merit was also established on this monastic spot for affording secular instruction to Greek youths. At Phanar, the secluded refuge of the Greek noblesse, in right of their privileges, education among the higher classes was promoted. For a long time this was the only place Constantinople could boast as supplying men of letters, some of whom, being conversant with foreign languages, were employed in European embassies as interpreters. Within the last fifty years the educational movement among the Greeks of Turkey has altered its course. Some schools established in the country afforded elementary instruction to the children, but, for the most part, they were now sent to Athens and Syra to complete their studies, where numerous schools and colleges afforded them the means of acquiring a perfect knowledge of their own language and a tolerably good general education. This migration, perseveringly continued for nearly thirty years, increased the number of these Athenian and Syraote establishments, and the pecuniary benefit they derived from it enabled them to perfect their organization. Politics and learning were two essential elements of education, which the modern Greeks uphold with a tenacity worthy of final success. The young Greek rayah, sent to Athens, returns to his home a scholar and a staunch Philhellene, burning with an all-absorbing desire to instil his ideas and feelings into the minds of his fellow rayahs. Such currents flow slowly but surely among a population that, debased as it may be by a foreign yoke, has a history and literature of its own to look back to. The first students returning from Greece were the pioneers of the immense progress that education has lately made among the Greeks in Turkey. None can realize and testify to this better than those who have watched its introduction and development in the interior. As I stated in another part of this work, even the élite of the Greek society of Broussa thirty years ago had lost the use of their mother-tongue, replacing it by broken Turkish. Since then, the introduction of schools has been the means of restoring the use of their own language to the great majority of the people, though one portion of the town is still ignorant of it, in consequence of the profitable occupation the silk factories afford to girls, who are sent there from a very early age, instead of going to school. The inhabitants of the surrounding villages, in all of which Greek schools have now been established, have learnt their national language—a proof that although the general attention of the Greeks has naturally first been directed to promoting education in Thessaly, Macedonia, and Epirus, the scattered colonies left on the Asiatic side have not been altogether forgotten or neglected; they have now good colleges in Smyrna, and schools in less important towns and villages.

The Greek village of Demerdesh, between Broussa and the seaport Moudania, merits special praise for the wonderful progress, both mental and material, it has made. It is refreshing to see the intelligent features of the inhabitants of this village, and their independent and patriotic disposition. One thinks involuntarily of some of the ancient Greek colonies that from small beginnings rose to great power and created for themselves a noble history.

At Constantinople the Greeks possess several rapidly improving educational establishments for both sexes. The Syllogus, too, a literary association for the promotion of learning, has been lately instituted in all the large towns of Turkey. Some years ago I was travelling with the head mistress of the girls’ school at Epibatæ, in the district of Silivri, near Constantinople—an institution which owes its origin and maintenance to the generosity and philanthropy of Doctor Sarente Archegenes, a native of the place, who, having acquired just reputation and wealth in the capital, did not forget his native village, but furnished the means for building and maintaining a school for girls in 1796. This mistress was a clever and well-educated lady from Athens, and she described to me her pleasure at the quickness displayed by these peasant girls in their studies. The only drawback, she remarked, to this work of progress is the absence of a similar establishment for the boys, who, all charcoal-burners by trade, ignorant and uncouth, are rejected as husbands by the more privileged sex. I believe since then the evil has been removed by the establishment of a boys’ school. How much more beneficial to humanity was the establishment of these institutions than that of the one founded by Mehemet Ali Pasha of Egypt at Cavalla, his native place. Desiring to benefit his country with some of the wealth acquired in Egypt, he requested the people of Cavalla to choose between a school and a charitable establishment or Imaret: the former was meant to impart light and civilization among them, the latter to furnish an abode for fanatical Softas, and daily rations of pilaf and bread for three hundred individuals. The Cavalla Turks did not hesitate between the mental and material food; and shortly after a substantial edifice was erected, its perpetual income helping to maintain a number of indolent persons within its walls, and feed the refuse of the population that lazily lounged about outside, waiting for the ready food that rendered labor unnecessary.

The wealthy Greek families at Constantinople are now giving special attention to the education of their children; the girls appear, more especially, to have profited by it, for the Greek ladies, as a class, are clever, well-informed, and good linguists, well bred and extremely pleasant in the intimacy of their social circles. Most of them are musicians, as the phrase is, some even attaining to excellence. A French lady told me she had heard a French ambassador state as his opinion that the best and most enlightened society in the capital was the Greek; but it was so exclusive that an easy admission into it was a privilege not to be enjoyed even by an ambassador. I may state that my personal experience allows me to coincide with this view. The men, absorbed in business, and perhaps still bearing the cachet of some of those faults that prejudice is ever ready to seize upon and exaggerate, are less refined and agreeable in society than the women. Gifted men, however, and men of a high standard of moral integrity and good faith, are not rare among them; and the munificence of such men as Messrs Zarifi, Christaki, Zographo, Baron Sina, and many others, in encouraging the advancement of education, and helping in the relief of the poor in time of want and distress, has entitled them to the gratitude of their nation.

Some time ago I was invited to attend the μνημόσυνα, an anniversary at the girls’ school at Salonika, in remembrance of its chief benefactress Kyria Castrio. A large cake, iced and decorated with various devices, was placed on a table facing the portrait of this lady, which, garlanded with flowers, appeared to look on smilingly and contentedly, encircled by a ring of young girls. The room was densely crowded with guests and the relatives of the children. Presently a great bustle was heard, and the crowd opened to give passage to the dignified, intellectual-looking Bishop, accompanied by his clergy, who quietly walked up to the cake, and read mass over it for the benefit of the soul of the departed lady. This ceremony concluded, he amiably shook hands with some of the company nearest to him, and took his seat at the rostrum used for lectures. It was now the turn of the young girls to express their gratitude to the memory of her to whose kind thought and generosity they owed in great part the education they were receiving. This was conveyed in a hymn composed for the occasion, and rendered with much feeling and expression, under the able direction of a young German master, who, for the love of the art in general, and the Greek nation in particular, had kindly undertaken to give free lessons in vocal music to the girls. Some of the elder girls looked very pretty, and all seemed bright and intelligent. The little ones, mustering in a company of two hundred, were next marched up in a double row, clasping each other round the waist. It was a pretty sight to see these little mites assembled round the chair of the paternal Bishop, keeping time with their feet to the tune, and singing their little hymn. This interesting ceremony was concluded by a long lecture, from one of the masters of the establishment, delivered in Greek. The profound attention with which all listened to it was a proof that it was understood and appreciated. These Mnemosyné are held annually in many towns, and even in secluded villages, in memory of charitable persons who have founded or largely endowed their schools.

While on the subject of the Salonika girls’ school, I may as well go on with it, and describe its organization, the course of studies followed in it, and the immense benefit it has proved to the community. Tedious as such a description is, it may be useful in giving an idea of the many other similar institutions scattered throughout the country. The building, formerly I believe a Turkish Konak, is in itself rather dilapidated: it consists of two spacious halls, into which open a number of class-rooms.

I inspected the classes, and was much pleased to find that the teachers ably and conscientiously fulfilled their duties, and that the pupils apparently did them great credit. The following is a list of the subjects taught by a lady principal and two professors:

Upper Division.

I. Greek.—Translations of ancient Greek authors and poets, with explanations, grammatical analysis, and composition.

II. Catechism, with due theological instruction.

III. History of Greece.

IV. Mathematics, including mathematical and geometrical geography.

V. Psychology.

VI. Παιδαγωγία.

VII. Plain and fancy needlework.

VIII. Vocal music.

IX. Physics.

Middle Division.

(Taught by lady principal, one mistress, and one professor.)

I. Greek and Greek writers.

II. Sacred history, and explanations of the Gospels.

III. Mathematics.

IV. Natural history.

V. Political and physical geography.

VI. Universal history.

VII. Calligraphy.

VIII. Needlework and vocal music.

Lower Division.

(Taught by six mistresses and four pupil teachers.)

I. Greek.—Reading, writing, modern Greek grammar, with explanations of modern Greek authors.

II. Sacred history and catechism.

III. Greek history.

IV. Arithmetic.

V. Natural history.

VI. Political geography, needlework, and calligraphy.

The infant schools contained two hundred scholars, who were seated on a gallery; four pupil teachers, two on each side, were keeping order, and the mistress was giving the lesson of the day, illustrating it by one of the many colored pictures that decorated the walls of the apartment. The lesson, explained by the teacher, is repeated by the children in chorus, who are afterwards questioned. The system followed in this school appears to me the most successful and appropriate way of teaching young children, whose minds, impressed by the object-lessons, and diverted by the variety of the exercises they are made to perform, are better able to understand and retain the knowledge imparted to them. A lady, recently arrived from Europe, who takes a great interest in schools, told me that few establishments of this kind in Europe could boast of better success.

The rudiments of the following lessons are taught: Reading; elementary geography; history; moral lessons; object-lessons; infantile songs and games.

During our visit to the girls’ school we stopped before each class, and a few girls were called out and examined by the master or mistress presiding over their studies. All these girls were intelligent in appearance, seemed well conversant with the subject in question, and were ready with their answers. Arithmetic and mathematics generally were the only branches of study in which they appeared deficient; but on the whole the instruction (unfortunately limited to the Greek language for want of funds) is excellent. The needlework, both plain and ornamental, is copied from models brought from Paris, and the girls show as much skill in this department as they do aptitude for study in others.

I questioned the directress on the general conduct and morality of the girls, and she gave me the best account of both. No distinction is made between the rich and poor; they sit side by side in the same class, a custom which, in countries where education is more developed, would be intolerable, but which, for the present, in a place where class distinctions are not so great, tends to improve the manners of the lower without prejudice to those of the upper. The opinion of the schoolmistress was, that the girls of Salonika, whilst more docile and more easily managed, were not less intelligent than the Athenian girls, whose more independent spirit often occasioned trouble in the schools.

From this establishment has been formed a training school for girls who wish to become school-mistresses; six professors instruct in the following subjects:

I. Greek.

II. Universal history.

III. Mathematics (including arithmetic and geometry).

IV. Physics, geology, and anthropology.

V. Philosophy, psychology, παιδαγωγία.

VI. Vocal, instrumental, and theoretical music.

VII. Gymnastics and calligraphy.

VIII. Explanations of the Gospels.

Seven female students obtained their diplomas this year (1877), and were sent into the interior, where in their turn they will be called upon to impart light and knowledge to the girls of some little town or village.

During my travels I have often come across these provincial schools, and found much pleasure in conversing with the ladylike, modest young Athenian women, who had left home and country to give their teaching and example to their less-favored sisters in Turkey. I remember feeling a special interest in two of these, whom I found established in a flourishing Greek village in a mountainous district of Macedonia.

I was invited into their little parlor, adjoining the school. It was plain but very neat, and the scantiness of the furniture was more than atoned for by the quantity of flowers and the many specimens of their clever handiwork. The Chorbadji’s wives, some of them wealthy, doted upon these girls, who were generally looked up to and called Kyria (lady); each wife vying with the other in copying the dresses and manners of these phenomenal beings transplanted into their mountain soil. The children, too, seemed devoted to their teachers, and delighted in the instruction given them, while the men of the village showed them all respect, and seemed to pride themselves on the future benefit their daughters and sisters would derive from the teachings and good influence of these ladies.

Having sufficiently enlarged upon the education of the girls of Salonika, I will now pass on to that of the boys, which is far more advanced.

The highest school for boys is called the Gymnasium. It contains four classes, in which six professors teach the following subjects:

I. Greek: translation of Greek poetry and prose, with analysis and commentary, grammatical and geographical, historical, archæological, etc.

II. Latin: translations from Latin authors and poets, with analysis.

III. Scripture lessons: catechism, with theological analysis and explanations.

IV. Mathematics: theoretical arithmetic, geometry, algebra, and trigonometry.

V. Natural science, comprising the study of geology, anthropology, physiology, and cosmography.

VI. History: universal, and more especially Greek.

VII. Philosophy, psychology, and logic.

VIII. French grammar, exercises and translations from the best French authors.

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

I. Greek, in all its branches.

II. Sacred lessons, history, and catechism.

III. Mathematics, practical arithmetic, and geometry.

IV. Natural history.

V. Political geography.

VI. Universal history.

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

I. Greek: reading, writing, modern Greek grammar; and explanations of modern Greek authors.

II. Sacred history and catechism.

III. History of Greece.

IV. Mathematics and practical arithmetic.

V. Natural history.

VI. Political geography.

VII. Vocal music and gymnastics.

How often, when witnessing the perseverance and energy displayed in promoting education among the Greeks and Bulgarians, have I heartily wished that some more of the funds given by our philanthropists for the purposes of conversion could find their way into the educational channel, and help to stimulate its progress!

Conversing on this subject with an intelligent American missionary, settled amongst the Bulgarians, I was told that the missionaries found it hard to work upon the ignorant and prejudiced, who distrust them and do not listen willingly to their teaching. The schoolmasters, the most enlightened among the people, alone comprehend and appreciate their object. He said, “Could we help these people to help themselves through their own schools by contributing to their support, our work would prosper far better. Education, destroying prejudice and superstition, would pave the way to a simpler form of worship; and those who really wish to benefit ignorant humanity in a sensible and effective manner ought to direct their efforts towards the propagation of education, which would finally lead to the end they have in view.”

I also visited another Greek school at Salonika, which was under the direction of a Greek gentleman educated in Germany, who has designed a new educational system which, having had a fair trial, will eventually be adopted in all the educational establishments of the Greeks. The origin of this institution does not date further back than two years, and of all the schools I have visited here and elsewhere, this certainly struck me as being the best and the most perfect of its kind. The children were divided into classes, each of which was examined by the master, the result of which greatly surprised myself and some friends who were present. The director, who justly took great pride in his work, assured us that all these boys under his care (whose ages did not exceed eleven) in consequence of the quickness, facility, and ability with which they received his instructions, had learnt in one year what he had been unable to teach in double that space of time to children in Germany. He added that he was constantly called upon to answer a shower of questions and remarks made by the pupils upon the theme of the lesson, which, having explained, he allows them time and liberty to discuss the difficult points, until they had quite mastered them. On their first entrance they appear listless and uninterested, but as the love of knowledge is developed and grows upon them, they often, when school time is up, beg permission to remain an hour longer in class.

The youngest were first examined in reading. They read fluently from Homer, and translated into modern Greek from chance pages left for us to choose. While the director was dwelling on some meteorological subject, one little mite of six lifted up its finger and said, “I noticed that the sky was very cloudy yesterday, and yet it did not rain, may I explain why?” Permission was at once given, and he enlightened us on the subject. All the questions put to the senior boys in mathematics and natural science were responded to with great promptitude and with a clear knowledge of what they referred to. The dog was the subject chosen for the lesson on zoology. The answers to the questions put on the variety of the species, and the different characteristics that distinguished them, were given with an exactness that showed how well the subject had been explained and understood. Scenes from Greek mythology, orally taught, had been learnt by heart, and were well retained by the pupils, who are said to display great interest in the classic selections, which they act in an admirable manner; the piece chosen for recital in our presence was a selection from the Iphigenia in Tauris of Euripides.

In answer to our inquiries on the conduct and natural disposition of his pupils, the master said both were good, although not free from faults, which he however felt confident would in time be eradicated by proper care and attention. When they first come they are apt to be untruthful: a vice I suppose they acquire, together with other bad habits, in the streets, where they are unfortunately allowed to associate with children who have received no education. Very much pleased with all I had seen and heard in this establishment, I begged the director to let me have one of the class-books containing the routine of teaching. He replied that he had no special work on the subject to abide by, and that the routine of the lessons, left to his own judgment, had been combined by him partly from the system he had studied in Germany, and partly from ideas suggested to him by reading the philosophical works of Herbert Spencer, for which he appeared to have a great admiration.

Few subjects, I think, are more worthy of attention than the march of progress among nations which, perhaps from causes beyond their own control, have long remained stationary. I asked a Greek gentleman, a short time since, what was the difference between the present and the last generation; what were the distinguishing characteristics of each, and what the advantages of the actual over the two preceding it. He replied that the first was ignorant and despotic; fortune, rather than merit, establishing the personal influence of the individual. When this influence was due to official favoritism, it was seldom honestly acquired, and rarely beneficial to others. The fortunes, too, if made in the country, would not stand very close inspection, for the system of money-making in Turkey is of so elastic a nature that it has to be pulled many ways, drawn and quartered, before the honest capitalist can call the money his own. The ladies of the past generation, though good and matronly, had received no education, and consequently could not afford to their children the moral support that the children of the present day are beginning to enjoy. The mothers taught their daughters to be pious and honest, and instructed them in household management and needlework, giving them at the same time a very limited supply of elementary teaching; any further education, up to a recent date, was considered a superfluous accomplishment for girls. The fathers had begun to pay more attention to the education of their sons, but this education was of a peculiar character; some of these boys, when even sent to foreign colleges to complete their studies, on returning home, were allowed neither the liberty of action nor the freedom of thought that they were entitled to by their superior education.

When these studies opened no particular career to them, the youths were generally called upon to follow the father’s trade or profession in a monotonous routine often distasteful to the more spirited young men, who could not break through the restraint without rebelling against the paternal authority. This check often led to disobedience and desertion. The independent youth would seek elsewhere a calling more adapted to his taste; many of these young men, starting with no resources but their brains, have been known to realize great fortunes. The rest of them, married to wives generally chosen for them by their parents, continue to live docilely under the paternal roof, showing every mark of deference to their father’s will,—the absolute law of the house.

All that is now changed; the present generation is far more active and free-thinking. Those who have had the advantages of education are no longer the dreaded despots of their homes, but the companions of their wives and the friends of their children, who, thanks to the privileges they enjoy in this respect, find their way to a free exchange of ideas and feelings with their parents. Many openings are now afforded to youths, who are consulted on the subject, and are free to follow the career they may choose. Should this be commercial, they are no longer, as formerly, the employés of their fathers, but partners with them, sharing the responsibilities and the profits of the business.

Good principles and morality are said to have made great progress among the rising generation, which in all respects is considered by careful observers to be far superior to, and promising to wipe away some of the faults of, their ancestors in modern times. Dishonesty is one of the evils generally attributed to the Greek character. Considering the long experience I have had of this country, the close contact into which I have been brought with all degrees of the Greek community, I cannot in justice admit this to be the rule. In my dealings with tradespeople, I have never found them worse than their neighbors belonging to other nationalities, nor can I say that I have often detected dishonesty in Greek servants, whilst to their devotion and good services I owe much of the comfort of a well-served house.

The nation of the Greeks is earnestly taken up with remodelling itself through the salutary means of education; it has made great progress, and cannot fail to fit itself for the prominent part it has to play in the destinies of South-eastern Europe.

At no epoch of the history of the Bulgarians does their dormant intellect appear to have produced any works of art or genius. This conclusion is arrived at by the absence of any proof of an anterior Bulgarian civilization in the form of literature or monuments. Without personal traditions, they know nothing of their past; and to learn something of it, are forced to consult the Byzantine and Slavonic authors. What civilization they possessed was also borrowed from the Slavs and Byzantines, with whom they lived in close contact. In comparing the national songs, their only literature, with those of the above-mentioned nations, we are led to conclude that the Bulgarians remained equally impervious to the softer and more elevating influence of the Greeks, and to the warlike and independent spirit of the Servians and other Slav populations, by whom they were surrounded. Having imbibed only to a slight extent the civilization of their time, they must, after the Ottoman conquest, through oppression and neglect, have forgotten the little they once possessed, and submitted to the life of perpetual toil and hardship which they have for centuries endured.

These peacefully disposed and hard-working peasants, however, though devoid of learning, deprived of national history, and cut off from the means of improvement, lack neither intelligence, perseverance, nor desire for instruction. We find the indications of this tendency in some of their somewhat disconnected and often uncouth national songs and ballads, which breathe a true love of country life, and illustrate the slow progress of their art, by eulogizing the slight innovations in their agricultural implements. Many of their ballads set forth the brave deeds of their few heroes, illustrate the past glory of their kingdom, lament its downfall, or endeavor to account for its misfortunes.[37]

These timid utterances of an undeveloped people are simple narratives of past incidents, whose relation is heightened neither by the spirit of revenge for wrongs, nor yet by hope for a brighter future. These, the only heritage of their ancestors, the Bulgarians treasure in their hearts, and at moments of joy and exhilaration or suffering, chant them to the accompaniment of the guzla, an instrument of three chords, whose monotonous sounds harmonize well with the shrill or plaintive airs in which utterance is given to their sentiments.

The blow aimed at the Bulgarian Church a little more than a century ago fell with equal weight upon the schools, which, though neither numerous nor effective, were nevertheless most valuable to the people, as the last depositories of their national tongue. These establishments, though the use of the Bulgarian language was formally abolished in them by the Greek Patriarch, still remained scattered all over Bulgaria, and, directed by the priests, enabled the Bulgarians, during the revival of the Church question, to make use of them as foundations for the more important and solid erections that have subsequently risen over them. The sudden manifestation of a desire for instruction and national improvement in Bulgaria is one of the most extraordinary phenomena I have had occasion to notice in the East.

Education at the time of the commencement of this movement was a privilege possessed by the very small section of the nation who were able to seek it in foreign countries. The townspeople studied but little, and the teaching in their schools comprised the Greek language, together with a few general notions: while the bulk of the population in the rural districts were left in entire ignorance. Those who wished for a more complete education, without leaving their country, had recourse to the higher Greek schools, in spite of the antipathy that existed between the two races.

I had written to a Bulgarian gentleman requesting some information upon the state of education in his country, but, unfortunately, the time at which I made this request did not allow him to meet my demand, and his daughter, a clever and accomplished young lady, undertook the task instead. The following is part of her first letter on the subject:

“Chère Madame: Mon père m’a dit que vous désiriez avoir quelques renseignements relativement à l’instruction en Bulgarie: une statistique des écoles, je crois. Comme il est très-occupé dans ce moment, il m’a chargé de vous fournir le peu de renseignements que nous possédons à ce sujet. J’ai donc recueilli tout ce qui a été publié jusqu’à présent par rapport aux écoles; mais malheureusement tout cela n’est que fort incomplet. Je me suis donc adressée aux evêques, espérant obtenir d’eux des informations plus exactes, et surtout plus complètes, et quelques uns d’eux m’ont promis de m’envoyer des statistiques des écoles dans leurs éparchies. Quant à l’origine de ce mouvement de la nation Bulgare vers la lumière, on n’en sait pas grand’chose. Tout ce que je pourrais vous dire à ce sujet n’est que les premières manifestations, faisant présager le reveil de cette nation à la vie, datent du commencement de ce siècle. Déjà en 1806 apparait le premier livre publié en langue Bulgare; l’année 1819 on voit paraître deux autres, et depuis ce temps chaque année apporte son contingent, quoique bien maigre encore, à ce petit trésor, qui s’amasse goutte à goutte. Quel rêve avait fait tressaillir ce peuple dans cette torpeur où il était plongé et qui avait toutes les apparences d’une léthargie devant durer éternellement? Etait-ce un souvenir instantané du passé? Une espérance subite d’un avenir moins sombre? Car, l’époque est assez loin encore où cette agglomeration de peuples, dont il fait partie, va venir en contact avec l’Europe civilisée et en subir l’influence. Quelque intéressante que serait l’explication de ce phénomène, on est obligé néanmoins de se contenter de conjectures. La tâche de l’historien qui essayerait d’élaircir ce point est tout aussi difficile que celle du philosophe qui cherche à de décrire le travail operé dans l’âme de l’enfant avançant progressivement à la lumière des nouvelles notions. Dans tous les deux cas, l’individu, dans lequel s’opére ce travail et qui pourtant est le plus à même d’en observer la marche, est, par sa faiblesse même, incapable d’en juger; il subit passivement, et c’est tout. Cependant cette période si obscure de notre vie nationale nous a légué trois noms bien brillants. Je veux parler du père Paisiy, qui, vers la fin du dernier siècle écrivait une histoire de la Bulgarie et quelques autres ouvrages; de Stoiko Vladislavoff (1739-1815), plus tard connu sous le nom de Sofraniy, qui écrivit près d’une vingtaine d’ouvrages dont quelques uns n’existent plus; et enfin de Néophite Bogvely, dont un des ouvrages, intitulé ‘Mati Bolgaria’ (Mère Bulgarie), est d’une actualité si frappante qu’on le croirait écrit hier. C’est un dialogue entre une mère et son fils dans lequel ils déplorent l’état de la patrie et recherchent les causes de ses malheurs. La mère se demande comment, malgré les immunités accordées aux Chrétiens et la promulgation de tant de bonnes lois, le sort de ces derniers ne se trouve pas amélioré; alors le fils la fait attention à la manière dont les lois sont appliquées. On ne parlerait pas autrement aujourd’hui! Observons en outre que tous les trois parlent du joug phanariote comme d’une des principales causes des malheurs de la Bulgarie. Ceci montre que reveil de l’esprit national chez les Bulgares n’est point, comme quelques uns aiment à le faire croire, un mouvèment factice dû à quelques individus. C’est dans l’histoire de ces trois hommes, qui, dans des circonstances plus favorables auraient infailliblement été de veritables flambeaux pour leur nation et peut-être pour l’humanité—c’est dans leur histoire, dis-je, qu’il faudrait chercher une partie des causes de la régénération de la nation Bulgare.

“Vous voudriez savoir l’époque à laquelle la première école fut fondée en Bulgarie. Il semble que de tout temps de petites aient existé où le prêtre enseignait aux enfants à lui, et où la limite suprême de la science était atteinte quand on parvenait à griffoner son nom. Mais la première école un peu plus digne de ce nom a été fondée à Gabrova vers l’an 1835. Kopriochtitza, Kalofer, Bazardjik, Sopote, suivirent bientôt cet exemple. La première école Bulgare à Philippopolis fut fondée en 1867. Je pourrais vous envoyer avec les statistiques les programmes de quelques unes des principales écoles....”

I regret to say that subsequent events unfortunately prevented my obtaining all the hoped-for information on this subject. I can therefore only present an incomplete description of the work of education in Bulgaria.

The schools opened at Gabrova, Kalofer, Sapote, and subsequently at Philippopolis, were the precursors of those that by degrees spread in all directions, entering every nook where a Bulgarian settlement existed; ten years were sufficient to augment the small number of original establishments to the following number that existed in Bulgaria previously to the desolation that befell that unfortunate country.

In the province of Philippopolis there were 305 primary schools, 15 superior schools, with 356 teachers and 12,400 scholars; 27 girls’ schools, with 37 teachers and 2265 pupils. The Tuna vilayet, equally endowed, was also in a fair way of improvement, and the Bulgarian youth there, though less advanced than in the district of Philippopolis, were beginning to rival their brethren on the other side of the Balkans.

The lessons taught in the gymnasium at Philippopolis comprise the Turkish, Greek, and French languages, elementary mathematics, geography, Bulgarian and Turkish history, mental and moral philosophy, religious and moral instruction, and church music.

All these larger establishments, most of which I visited, were fine spacious edifices; some of them were formerly large old mansions, others were specially erected for schools.

Up to the year 1860 the schools in Bulgaria owed their creation and maintenance to voluntary subscriptions and to funds bequeathed by charitable individuals. But these funds were small compared with the demand made by the people for the extension and development of their educational institutions. At the separation of their Church from that of Constantinople, they reappropriated the revenues, which were placed under the direction of a number of men chosen from each district, and a part of them was set aside for the purposes of education. These first steps towards a systematic organization of the Church and schools were followed by the appointment of a mixed commission of clerical and lay members, annually elected in each district, charged with the immediate direction of the local ecclesiastical department. Each commission acts separately and independently of the other, but is answerable to the community at large for the supervision and advancement of public instruction. A further innovation in the shape of supplying funds for the increasing demand for schools of a higher class was made by the Bulgarians of Philippopolis by contriving to persuade the authorities of that place to allow a tax to be levied on each male Bulgarian of 52 paras (about 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 great facilities, financial and otherwise, afforded them in that country, they now prefer the schools of France and Germany, together with the College of the American Mission at Bebek, and the training schools that have been lately established in the country, which are now capable of supplying the teachers necessary for the village schools. Recent events have, to a great extent, disorganized this excellent system: had it been allowed ten years longer to work, a transformed Bulgarian nation might have occupied the world’s attention.

The girls’ schools, also formed by the active American ladies, deserve our attention. Their principal object is to bestow sound Christian instruction upon the rising female population, and their efforts have met with deserved yet unexpected success, not only in developing knowledge among their own people, but in stimulating the Bulgarian communities to display a greater interest in the education of their daughters and found schools of a similar character. These establishments have produced a number of excellent scholars, who have done honor to them by their attainments and general good character.

The agents of the Roman Catholic Propaganda have schools in the principal towns, and are actively employed; but their efforts are more particularly directed to proselytism than to instruction, and their work has consequently met with less success than that of the Protestant missionaries.

CHAPTER XX.
SUPERSTITION.

Superstitious Character of the Dwellers in Turkey—Olympus—Klephtic Legends—The Vrykolakas—Local Spirits—A Vampire at Adrianople—Spirits of the Springs—Miraculous Cures—Magic—Influence upon Bulgarians—An Historiette—Antidotes for Spells—The Meras Tas—Universal Belief in Magic, and the Consequences—Buyu Boghchas—The Buyu Boghchas of Abdul-Medjid and Aziz—Quack Astrologers—A Superstitious Pasha—The Evil Eye—Remedies thereagainst—Spring Bleeding—Vipers—Means of expelling Vermin—Remedial Properties of Hebrew Beards—Dreams—Omens—Sultan Mahmoud’s Omen—Predictions—The Bloody Khan: Buried Treasure.

There are few people so superstitious as the people of Turkey. All nations have their traditions and fancies, and we find educated Englishmen who dislike walking under a ladder on superstitious grounds; but in Turkey every action, every ceremony, every relation, is hedged round with fears and omens and forebodings. Whatever happens to you is the work of supernatural agencies, and can only be remedied by the nostrums of some disreputable hag or some equally suspicious quack diviner. If you lose anything, it is the evil eye of some kind friend that has done it. If you look fixedly at anybody or anything, it is you who are trying to cast the evil eye. In short, nothing happens in Turkey unsupernaturally: there is always some spirit or magician or evil eye at the bottom of it. And this belief is not confined to the Turks: Greeks, Bulgarians, and even a good many Franks, are equally superstitious. Nor is this superstition, like the many harmless customs still observed in England, a mere luxury—an affectation: it is a matter of life and death. Not a few young girls have died from the belief that they were bewitched, or from some other superstitious shock; not a few homes have been made miserable by the meddlesome prophecies of a suborned astrologist.

A great centre of superstition is Mount Olympus. Since the gods deserted it the popular imagination has peopled it with spirits of every denomination, and Klephtic legend has added to the host. The Greek peasants have a superstitious horror of approaching the ruined villages at the foot of the mountain; making the sign of the cross, they take a circuitous by-path sooner than follow the deserted road that would lead them past the desecrated church, the neglected graveyards, the blackened ruins of the cottages, now believed to be haunted by the restless spirits of dead Klephts, who roam about in the silence of night, bemoaning their fate, and crying vengeance on the oppressors of their race. It is only on the anniversary of the patron saint of this deserted region that the surviving inhabitants of these once prosperous hamlets, bringing their descendants and carrying the aged and infirm as well as the youngest babes, set out on a pilgrimage to these spots hallowed by unforgotten wrongs, to pray for the souls of the dead and offer mnemosyné to calm their restless spirits; and to inculcate in their children the sacred duty of vengeance on the tyrants who inflicted upon their ancestors those speechless injuries whose memory it is the object of these pilgrimages to preserve fresh and vengeful. The Turks, ever ready to accept their neighbors’ superstitions, dread these ruined villages no less than the Greeks. Peopled, as he believes them, by Peris and Edjinlis, no Turk will come near them, for fear of coming under some malign influence.

The Klephtic legends are full of the most terrible of all ghosts, the Vrykolakas, or vampire. Many popular songs tell of this fearful spectre, who is the spirit of some traitor or other evil-doer who cannot be at peace in his grave, but is ever haunting the scene of his crime. One ghastly poem records the visit of a traitorous Klepht chieftain, Thanásê Vagía, as a vampire, to his widow. This man had betrayed his comrades to Ali Pasha, and their souls, heralded by the ghostly Kukuvagia, or owl of ill-omen, come and drag him from his grave and hurry him to Gardiki, where his deed of treachery was done. Suddenly they find the soul of the tyrant Ali Pasha, and, forgotten in the rush, Thanásê Vagía takes refuge with his widow. The dialogue between them is full of dramatic power; the horror of the wife at the livid apparition that seeks to embrace her, and the vampire’s terror in his miserable doom, are vividly told. At last the spectre is driven away by the touch of the cross, which he uncovers on his wife’s bosom. It is a striking poem, and brings home to one the living reality of this horrible superstition to the Greeks. As we have seen, they make periodical visits to the graves of their dead to discover whether the soul is at peace. If the body is not fully decomposed at the end of the year, they believe that their relation has become a Vrykolakas, and use every means to lay the spirit.

But the Vrykolakas, though the most ghastly of spirits, is not alone. There are invisible influences everywhere in Turkey. If the Vrykolakas haunts the graveyards, old Konaks have their edjinlis, fountains their peris, public baths their peculiar genii.

All these imaginary beings, whose existence is implicitly believed in, are expected to be encountered by the persons upon whom they may choose to cast their baneful or good influence. Their dreaded hostility is combated by the Christians by religious faith, such as an earnest appeal to Christ and the Virgin, by repeatedly crossing themselves in the name of both, or by taking hold of any sacred amulet they may have on their persons. These amulets consist of small portions of the “true cross” enshrined in crosses of silver, a crucifix, or an image of the Virgin, which, trustingly held and shown to the apparitions, have the effect of rendering them impotent and causing them to vanish. The Turks have recourse to the repetition of a certain form of prayer, and to their muskas or amulets, in which they place as much faith as the Christians do in theirs.

In 1872 the whole town of Adrianople was put in commotion by the nightly apparition of a spectre that showed itself at Kyik, a fine elevated part of the town, inhabited both by Christians and Mussulmans. This imaginary being, believed to be a Vrykolakas, was represented to me, by eye-witnesses of both creeds, who swore they had seen it listening about their houses in the twilight, as a long, slim, ugly-looking figure, with a cadaverous bearded face, clad in a winding-sheet; one of those restless spirits, in fact, who, not being allowed the privilege of peaceful decomposition in their tombs, still haunt the homes of the living, tapping at their doors, making strange noises, and casting their evil influence upon them. This comedy lasted a fortnight, during which in vain did the Mussulman Hodjas and the Christian priests endeavor, by their prayers and incantations, to free the people from their alarming visitor. At last, it was rumored that the only human being possessing the power of doing so was a Turkish Djindji, or sorcerer, famous for his power over evil spirits, who lived in a town at some distance, but who could only be prevailed upon to come by payment of seven liras by the Kyik people. On the arrival of this man at Adrianople the supposed spirit disappeared. The belief of the inhabitants in the existence of the vampire was too deeply rooted to allow me to ascertain who was the charlatan that had benefited by this imposition on public credulity. I questioned a Greek woman who had seen it. She crossed herself, and said she would rather dispense with talking on the subject. On asking a Turk his opinion on the apparition, he said, “It must have been the spirit of some corrupt bribe-eating Kadi, forbidden the repose due to the remains of an honest man, and come back to trouble us with his presence after he has lost the power of fleecing us of our money!”

The spirits that have their abodes in mineral baths are specially courted by the sick, who are taken to the establishments and left under the beneficent care of these beings. The mineral bath of Kainadjah, near Broussa, is a dark dungeon-like place, extremely old, and much famed in the district for its healing powers. Its waters, strongly impregnated with sulphur, are boiling hot, rendering the atmosphere of the bath intolerable to any but the credulous, who, I suppose, support it, by virtue of the faith they place in the good to be derived from the trial. A crippled Turkish woman was taken to this bath at nightfall, with a written petition in her hand to the genii, and, according to the usual routine, was left alone in utter darkness in the inner bath till morning. The spirits of the place, if well disposed towards her and pleased with the sacrifice promised to them, would be expected to come in the course of the night and attend upon her. A copper bowl, left by the side of the patient, and knocked against the marble slabs in case assistance was required, was the only means of communication between the patient and her friends waiting outside.

This woman, for many years deprived of the use of her legs, had been brought from a distant part of the country. I had a chat with her before she underwent the treatment. She appeared fully sensible of the dangers it presented, but at the same time confident in the benefits expected to be derived, which the bath-women represented to her as being unfailing, owing to the supernatural aid the spirits would be sure to accord her. This cure, of a nature so exhausting to the system, and so telling upon the imagination, requires a great amount of moral courage and no small degree of physical strength to carry out.

This subject was one of deep interest to me, and my first care next morning was to visit the patient, and see what the waters, not the Peris, had done for her. I found her sitting in the outer chamber of the bath, looking very tired and exhausted; but, as I approached, her face lighted with smiles, and she actually stretched out her feet and attempted to stand upon them. I could scarcely believe my eyesight or conceal my surprise at this sudden change in her condition. Her friends cried out in chorus, “Spit upon her, and say Mashallah!” while the bath-women ceased not to sound the praises and boast of the power and good-will of the Peris of their establishment who had wrought this wonderful cure, leaving all the time no doubt in my mind that the beneficent spirits were no other than the Hammamjis themselves.

The following is the account the patient gave of what she underwent when left alone in her vapory dungeon:

“At first I felt a suffocating sensation, then by degrees a weakness crept over me, my eyes closed, and I fainted away. I do not know how long I remained in that condition, but on recovering consciousness I felt myself handled by invisible beings, who silently pulled and rubbed my afflicted limbs. My terror at this stage was as great as my helplessness to combat it. I began to tremble and wished to call for help; when on the point of doing so, I suddenly found myself under the reviving influence of a pail of cold water suddenly thrown over me. The shock, together with my terror, was so great that I actually made a supreme effort to stand upon my feet, when, to my awe and astonishment, I discovered that I had the power of doing so; I even took a few steps forwards, but in the darkness I could proceed no further, and, finding my voice, began to call for help with all my might. The gentle bang of the door for a moment made me hope that my friends were within reach; but no! it was only the spirits, who, unwilling to be seen by mortal eyes, were taking their departure. Their exit was followed by the arrival of my friends, who, alarmed by my screams, were rushing to my aid. I was taken out by the advice of the good Hammamji Hanoum (bath mistress), and left to repose in the outer chamber till morning. I have already ordered the sacrifice of the sheep I promised to the spirits, should they relieve me of the infliction that has crippled me so many years, and am willing to submit to the same ordeal twice more, according to the recommendation of the Hammamji Hanoum, in order to afford the Peris the full time needed for the accomplishment of their task.”

Cases of a similar nature have often been the theme of wonder among those who frequented the baths of Broussa, whose efficacious waters used annually, and employed by civilized patients who resort to them from all parts of the Empire, are found salutary enough without the services of the Peris.

Magic plays a great part in Turkish affairs. Christians and Moslems, Greeks and Bulgarians, Turks and Albanians, implicitly believe in the power possessed by evil-minded persons of casting spells upon their enemies or rivals, and extraordinary means are resorted to with a view to removing the baneful influence. Among my Uskup reminiscences, which are none of the most pleasant, I remember one particularly interesting case, which not only illustrates the general belief of an ignorant population in the power of spells, but also presents a fair picture of the way the peasants are treated by their masters. This instance of the rape of a Bulgarian girl by a brigand chief is no isolated case. Such things are the daily occupation of Turks in authority and of Albanian chiefs who have forgotten their national traditions and have condescended to ape Turkish manners.

The heroine of my story was a young Bulgarian girl belonging to the town of Uskup. She was a strong healthy maiden, but not the less beautiful:—a brunette, with bright black eyes full of expression, a small, well-shaped mouth, fine teeth, a forehead rather low, but broad and determined, and a nose in which high spirit and character were strongly marked. Her oval face would have been perfect but for the slight prominence of the cheek-bones. Her jet-black hair fell in a number of braids on her well-shaped shoulders, in fine contrast to the rich embroidery of her Sutna. On working days she was seen laboring in the fields with her brothers, where her cheerful voice would enliven the monotonous sound of the spade; while on feast-days she was ever the first to reach the common and lead the Hora to the sound of the Gaida. Her natural gayety made her welcome everywhere; she was called “The Lark” by her friends, and was the life and soul of every gathering. She had the happy assured look of the girl who loves well and is loved well again.

One feast-day, riding by the common, I reined in my horse, and stopped to admire this pretty creature by the side of her handsome and intelligent-looking lover, gracefully leading the dance. They both looked pleased and happy, as though their earthly Paradise had as yet known no shadow. But the sun that set so brightly on the festivities of the day was darkened on the morrow. The poor girl was going at dawn to the harvest field, with her bright sickle in her hand, when she was waylaid by a band of Albanian ruffians, who suddenly appeared from behind a hedge where they had been concealed, and tried to seize and carry her off. The danger was sudden, but the stout-hearted girl lost neither courage nor presence of mind; holding her sickle, she stood her ground, bravely defended herself and kept her ravishers at bay. The Albanians, who make it a point of honor not to strike a woman, changed their plan, and pointing their guns at her brothers, who stood helpless by her side, shouted, “Yield, Bulka, or both your brothers are dead!” A look of despair flashed for a moment across her face; then folding her arms she declared her readiness to follow her persecutors, saying, “You have power over my person, take it, and do your worst; but what is within here” (pointing to her head and heart) “none shall have save the Great Bogha and my Tashko.”

Mehemet Bey, a brigand chief, was the instigator of the abduction. Assisted by two subordinates, he placed her behind him on his horse and galloped off across the plain of the Vardar to his village. The brothers, dismayed by the misfortune that had so unexpectedly befallen their sister, ran back to the town and gave notice to the venerable bishop, who at once proceeded to the Konak and acquainted the Kaimakam with the details, and demanded that the girl should be reclaimed and given up to him. The salutary custom then practised in cases of both willing and compulsory conversion was that the neophytes should be placed under the keeping of the bishop in the Metropolis, where they were allowed to remain three days, enjoying the benefits of religious advice and the good influence of their friends. This excellent custom, since done away, had the best results. The prevailing custom, which has superseded this, is to send the neophyte to the house of the Kadi or governor of the town, where a very different influence, seldom of a salutary nature, is exerted during three days, when the presumed convert, often yielding to erroneous arguments and false promises, is led before the Court to declare his or her adoption of the Moslem faith. This pressure was brought to bear upon Rayna, our heroine, and she was treated by the Albanian chief and his friends by turns to threats of vengeance and every kind of flattery and glittering promise. But the brave girl was deaf to both, and by the instrumentality of the Kaimakam the captive was finally brought to the Metropolis, where she strongly protested against the calumnious accusations brought against her by her enemies of having tacitly consented to her abduction, and demanded to be led before the Court without delay to make her final declaration.

Her captivity had naturally been a terrible blow to her betrothed, and the joy of her release was sadly darkened by horrible suspicions of the dishonor to which she might have been subjected. The young man accepted all the same his chosen bride, whom he had so narrowly escaped losing, and the wedding-day was fixed.

The bridegroom’s home was so situated, that from the windows of my room I could see into it. The family consisted of an aged Bulgarian woman and her son, a furrier by trade. A week before the ceremony took place, the old lady might be seen working away at the preparations for the coming event. The house was thoroughly cleaned and whitewashed; the copper pots, pans, and dishes, and the china and glass, indispensable decorations of the shelves that adorn the walls of every well-to-do Bulgarian tradesman’s house, were in their turn brought down, made bright and shining, and then returned to their places. All the carpets were then produced, in extraordinary quantity, and of all colors, dimensions, and qualities. These were stretched on mattresses, sofas, on the floors of the rooms and on the veranda. The cellar was next visited, and no small quantity of its fluid contents brought forth. Uskup is the only town in Turkey in which I have noticed a tendency on the part of the female population to indulge in drink; they do not, however, practise this vice in public, nor is an inebriated woman ever seen in the country. Finally the provisions, consisting of an abundant supply of flour, rice, butter, honey, and fruits were collected, and all seemed in readiness. The future bridegroom, however, who appeared ill and dispirited, took no very active part in the arrangements, and I frequently observed him sitting on the veranda silent and dull, smoking cigarette after cigarette; his mother occasionally whisking round and reprimanding him in strong Bulgarian language, to which he would sometimes respond by a few words and at others would heave a deep sigh and leave the house.

I went to see the bride on the day she was brought to her new home. She looked very pretty in her bright bridal costume, but her fine eyes had lost something of their lustre and her cheeks much of their wonted bloom. She looked serious and concerned; her husband, dull and dispirited. As they stood up to make the first formal round of the dance, I noticed the difference in their step, formerly so light, now heavy and sorrowful. As they turned round, slowly measuring their steps to the music of the gaida, not a smile parted their lips, not a cheerful word was heard from the rest of the company. The poor bride noticed this, and a few tears dropped from her eyes; but her cup of sorrow was not yet full. A suspicious-looking woman, famous for her deep knowledge of witchcraft, entered; taking aside the bridegroom, she whispered something in his ear which seemed to impress him deeply. This bird of ill omen left behind her a chill which all seemed to feel. When the week’s feasting was at an end, the gossips began to chat over the event, all agreeing that a duller wedding had never taken place in their town, and prophesying all sorts of misfortunes to the young couple. I frequently saw them from my windows, and noticed that they did indeed seem far from happy. The husband looked morose, was seldom at home, and during those intervals was always in bad humor and disputing with his mother, and quarrelling with his wife, who was oftener crying than laughing.

The gossiping tongues of the neighbors were once more loosed, and the report was spread that the bridegroom was laboring under the influence of a magical spell cast upon him by his disappointed rival, the Albanian chieftain, and that he was consequently zaverza. This spell cast upon men is, among other devices, operated by means of the locking of a padlock by a sorcerer, who casts the lock into one well and the key into another. This is supposed actually to lock up every feeling and faculty of the individual against whom it is directed, and to render him insensible to the impressions of love. This spell, implicitly believed in and much feared by all the ignorant people of the country, requires the assistance of a professional to remove its malignant effects. The unhappy couple, after many miserable months, resolved to have recourse to the sorceress before mentioned, and after the husband had undergone the remedies prescribed by her everything went well, and my heroine once again became happy. Such is the force of imagination.

The antidotes employed in these cases consist of quicksilver and other minerals, placed with water in a basin, called the Meras Tas, or Heritage-Bowl, a very rare vessel, highly prized for its virtues, and engraved with forty-one padlocks. The water is poured from this bowl over the head of the afflicted person during the seven weeks following Easter. At Monastir, this ablutionary performance is held in a ruined mill called Egri Deirmen, where every Thursday during this period may be seen a heterogeneous gathering of Turks, Jews, Bulgarians, Wallachians, Albanians, and Greeks, young and old, male and female, who resort to the spot, and for the modest payment of a copper coin receive the benefits of an anti-magical wash. Every one who has been to the place will attest the beneficial effect of this rite, and so deeply rooted is the belief in the influence of magic in the minds of these people that even those who may have wished to free themselves from what they almost admit to be a superstition, say that they are led back by the incontrovertible evidence they see of its effects on the persons against whom it is employed.

Most of the spells cast upon persons are aimed at life, beauty, wealth, and the affections. They are much dreaded, and the events connected with this subject that daily occur are often of a fatal character. A Turkish lady, however high her position, invariably attributes to the influence of magic the neglect she experiences from her husband, or the bestowal of his favor on other wives. Every Hanoum I have known would go down to the laundry regularly and rinse with her own hands her husband’s clothes after the wash, fearing that if any of her slaves performed this duty she would have the power of casting spells to supplant her in her husband’s good graces. Worried and tormented by these fears, she is never allowed the comfort of enjoying in peace that conjugal happiness which mutual confidence alone can give. A buyu boghcha (or magic bundle) may at any time be cast upon her, cooling her affection for her husband, or turning his love away from her. The blow may come from an envious mother-in-law, a scheming rival, or from the very slaves of whose services the couple stand daily in need. A relative of Sultan Abdul-Medjid assured me that on the death of that gentle and harmless Padishah no fewer than fifty buyu boghchas were found hidden in the recesses of his sofa. All these were cast upon the unfortunate sovereign by the beauties who, appreciated for a short time and then superseded by fresh favorites, tried each to perpetuate her dominion over him.

During a conversation I recently had with a Turkish lady of high position, who had spent seventeen years of her life in the seraglio of Sultan Abdul-Aziz, I happened to refer to the eccentricities occasionally displayed by that Sultan. She looked reproachfully at me and exclaimed, “How can you accuse the memory of our saintly master of eccentricity when every one knows it was the effect of magic?” and, adding action to her words, she began to enumerate on the tips of her fingers all the persons who had a special interest in having recourse to this practice in order to bewilder the mind of the Sultan. “The first schemer,” said she, “is the Validé Sultana, desirous of perpetuating her influence over the mind of her son. The next is the Grand Vizir, in the hope of further ingratiating himself with his master. Then comes the Kislar Aga, chief of the eunuchs, with a host of women, all disputing with each other the affection of the Sultan. If ten out of twelve of these fail in their attempt the machinations of two will be sure to succeed, and these two suffice to bewilder the mind of any man. When our lamented master was driven out of his palace, and the furniture removed from his chamber, buyu boghchas were found even under the mats on the floor. These, taken up by some good women that still venerated his memory, were thrown into the sea or consumed by fire.”

The buyu boghcha is composed of a number of incongruous objects, such as human bones, hair, charcoal, earth, besides a portion of the intended victim’s garment, etc., tied up in a rag. When it is aimed at the life of a person, it is supposed to represent his heart, and is studded with forty-one needles, intended to act in a direct manner and finally cause his death. Two of these bundles, of a less destructive nature, were thrown into my house; on another occasion two hedgehogs, also considered instruments of magic and forerunners of evil, were cast in. All these dreaded machinations had, however, no other effect on me beyond exciting my curiosity to know their perpetrator; but they occasioned great fear to my native servants, who were continually expecting some fatal calamity to happen in consequence.

The advice of magicians, fortune-tellers, dream-expounders, and quack astrologers is always consulted by persons desirous of being enlightened upon any subject. Stolen property is believed to be recoverable through their instrumentality, and the same faith is placed in them as a European victim of some wrong would put in the intelligence and experience of a clever detective. Some of these individuals are extremely acute in arriving at the right solution of the mystery. Their power, dreaded by the suspected parties as sure to result in some unforeseen calamity, is a moral pressure which, when set to work upon the superstitious, succeeds beyond expectation. The following is an example of the hold that superstition has over the minds of the most enlightened Turks. A Pasha, who had been ambassador at Paris, and whose wit, liberal ideas, and pleasant manners were highly appreciated in European circles, was appointed in his more mature years Governor-General of Broussa during the reign of Abdul-Medjid. During his travels he had collected a splendid library, the finest ornament of his house. These books gave umbrage to an old sheikh, who possessed unlimited influence over the Pasha. The old fanatic had mentally vowed the destruction of these writings of the infidel, and by means of his eloquence and by prophetic promises he so worked upon the governor’s superstitious feelings as to induce him to sacrifice his library, which was brought down into the court-yard and made into a bonfire. The recompense for this act of abnegation, according to the sheikh, was to be the possession of the much-coveted post of Grand Vizir. Strange to say, a short time afterwards the Pasha was called to occupy that position; but its glory and advantages were enjoyed by him for the short period of three days only—a poor recompense for his sacrifice.

Belief in the evil eye is perhaps more deeply rooted in the mind of the Turk than in that of any other nation, though Christians, Jews, and even some Franks regard it as a real misfortune. It is supposed to be cast by some envious or malicious person, and sickness, death, and loss of beauty, affection, and wealth are ascribed to it. Often when paying visits of condolence to Turkish harems, I have heard them attribute the loss they have sustained to the Nazar. I knew a beautiful girl, who was entirely blinded and disfigured by small-pox, attribute her misfortune to one of her rivals, who, envying in her the charms she did not herself possess, used to look at her with the peculiar fena guz (bad expression) so much dreaded by Turkish women. When the misfortune happened, the ignorant mother, instead of reproaching herself for her neglect in not having had her daughter vaccinated, lamented her want of foresight in having omitted to supply her with the charms and amulets that would have averted the calamity.

A lady who had lost a beautiful and valuable ring that had attracted the attention of an envious acquaintance, when relating to me the circumstance with great pathos, attributed her loss solely to the evil eye cast upon it by her friend.

I knew a lady at Broussa whose eye was so dreaded as to induce her friends to fumigate their houses after she had paid them a visit. She happened to call upon my mother one evening when we were sitting under a splendid weeping willow-tree in the garden. She looked up and observed that she had never seen a finer tree of its kind. My old nurse standing by heard her observation, and no sooner had our visitor departed than she suggested that some garlic should at once be hung upon it or it would surely come to grief. We all naturally ridiculed the idea, but, as chance would have it, that very night a storm uprooted the willow. After this catastrophe the old woman took to hanging garlic everywhere, and would have ornamented me with it had I not rebelled.

At Uskup the finest horse in the town was my Arab, which was said to excite the admiration and envy of the Albanians, whose love for fine horses is well known. Often after having been out he was pronounced Nazarlu by our faithful kavass and the groom, and was at once taken to a sheikh of great repute in the town, who read prayers over it, pulled its ears, and after breaking an egg on its forehead, sent it back with every assurance that it was Savmash (cured). Finding that my pet was none the worse for this strange treatment (for which I was never allowed to pay by my excellent friend the old sheikh), and seeing that it afforded gratification to my people, I allowed them to take it as often as they liked.

Visiting one day the nursery of a friend, we found the baby, six months old, divested of its clothing and stretched on a square of red cloth, while the old Greek nurse, much concerned about the ailing condition of her charge, which she attributed to the effects of the evil eye, was presiding over the following operation performed by an old hag of the same nation in order to free the infant from the supposed influence. Little heaps of hemp, occupying the four corners of the cloth, were smoking like miniature altars; their fumes, mingling with the breathings and incantations of the old enchantress, offered a strange contrast to the repeated signs of the cross made by her on the baby’s body, ending in a series of gymnastic contortions of its limbs. The child soon recovered his wonted liveliness, and seemed to enjoy the process, crowing and smiling all the time.

Should you happen to fix your gaze on a person or object in the presence of ill-disposed Turks, you are liable to receive rude remarks from them under the idea that you are casting the evil eye. Some months ago two Turkish boys, belonging to one of the principal families of the town of R⸺, attracted the attention of some Christian children who stood by, and who were forthwith violently assaulted by the servants of the little boys, who called out, “You little giaours! how dare you look in this manner at our young masters and give them the evil eye?” The cries of the children brought some shopkeepers to the spot, who with some difficulty rescued them from this unprovoked attack.

The preservatives employed against the power of this evil are as numerous as the means used to dissipate its effects. The principal preventives and antidotes are garlic, cheriot, wild thyme, boar’s tusks, hares’ heads, terebinth, alum, blue glass, turquoise, pearls, the bloodstone, carnelian, eggs (principally those of the ostrich), a gland extracted from the neck of the ass, written amulets, and a thousand other objects. The upper classes of the Christians try to avert its effect by sprinkling the afflicted persons with holy water, fumigating them with the burning branches of the palms used on Palm Sunday, and by hanging amulets round their necks: as preservatives, coral, blue glass ornaments, and crosses are worn. The common people of all denominations resort to other means in addition to these. The Bulgarians, for instance, take six grains of salt, place them on each eye of the afflicted person, and then cast them into the fire with a malediction against the person supposed to have caused the evil. They also take three pieces of burning charcoal, place them in a green dish, and making the sign of the cross pour water over them. Part of this liquid is drunk by the victim, who also washes his face and hands in it and then throws the remainder on the ground outside the house.

On the last day of February (old style), they take the heads of forty small fish, and string and hang them up to dry. When a child is found ailing from the supposed effects of the evil eye, the heads are soaked in water, and the horrible liquid given to it to drink. It is considered a good test of the presence of the evil eye to place cloves on burning coals and carry them round the room. Should many of these explode, some malicious person is supposed to have left the mischievous effects of the Nazar behind him.

Blue or gray eyes are more dreaded than dark ones, and red-haired persons are particularly suspected. Great circumspection is observed in expressing approbation, admiration or praise, of anything or anybody, as all Orientals live in a continual state of dread of the effects of the fena guz.

Besides the belief in spirits, magic, and other supernatural powers, public credulity in the East is apt to accept as facts a variety of matters not less absurd and often more injurious. In spring, for instance, a popular idea prevails that blood in some manner or other must be drawn from the body in order to cool the system and render it healthy for the summer. Part of the population will appeal to the barber, part to professed phlebotomists, others to the application of leeches. Superstition requires that vipers should be medicinally used in spring; the gypsies undertake to collect these and sell them alive to the inhabitants of towns. I remember seeing one of these reptile-hunters carry a bagful of them on his back against a sheepskin-coat. A passer-by being attracted by their movements, visible through the bag, took hold of it, but no sooner had he done so than he paid dearly for his curiosity by being severely bitten by one of them. Freshly killed animals, such as frogs, birds, etc., are often applied to suffering members of the body.

Croup is cured by amulets procured from the Hodjas and hung round the neck of the child. Turkish women have often assured me that this remedy is never known to fail, and consequently they resort to no other. Square pieces of paper, bearing written inscriptions, are given for a few piastres by learned Hodjas to persons whose dwellings are infested with vermin. These are nailed on the four walls of an apartment, and are believed to have the power of clearing it of its obnoxious tenants. Going into the room of one of my servants one day at Adrianople, I found a cucumber-boat occupying each corner. On inquiring why they were placed there, an old servant answered that, being inconvenienced by the too plentiful visitation of vermin, she had appealed to a person at Kyik, whose magical influence, conveyed in cucumbers, was stated to be infallible in driving the creatures away. I tried to analyze the contents of these receptacles, but finding them a mess composed of charcoal, bones, bits of written paper, hair, etc., I soon desisted, hoping that it would prove more efficacious than it promised.

The Bulgarian remedy for this pest, although simpler in form, can hardly be more effective. It consists of a few of these insects being caught on the 1st of March, inclosed in a reed, and taken to the butcher, their credentials being couched in the following terms: “Here is flesh, here is blood for you to deal with; take them away and give us something better in exchange.”

Another means of getting rid of serpents, venomous insects, and vermin, is made use of by the Bulgarians on the last day of February; it consists in beating copper pans all over the houses, calling out at the same time, “Out with you, serpents, scorpions, fleas, bugs, and flies!” A pan held by a pair of tongs is put outside in the court-yard.

Mohammedans execrate the Christian faith, and Christians the Mohammedan faith, but both in cases of incurable diseases have recourse reciprocally to each other’s Ἁγιάσματα (holy wells), the sacred tombs of the saints, and to the prayers of the clergy of both creeds. I have often seen sick Turkish children taken to the Armenian church at Broussa, and heard prayers read over them by Armenian priests. I have also seen Christian children taken to Hodjas to be blown and spat upon, or have the visitation of intermittent fever tied up by means of a piece of cotton-thread twisted round the wrist.

I happened one day to be making some purchases from a Jew pedler at the gate, when a Turkish woman passing by came quietly up to the old man, and before he could prevent her, made a snatch at his beard and pulled out a handful. The unfortunate Hebrew, smarting under the pain and insult, asked the reason for her cruelty. “Oh,” she answered, “I did not intend to insult or hurt you; but my daughter has had fever for a long time, and as all remedies that I have tried have proved vain, I was assured that some hairs snatched from the beard of an Israelite and used to fumigate her with would be sure to cure her.” She then tied up her stolen treasure in her handkerchief and walked away with it.

Dreams play a great part in Eastern life. The young girl, early taught to believe in them, hopes to perceive in these transient visions a glimpse of the realities that are awaiting her; the married woman seeks, in their shadowy illusions, the promise of the continuation of the poetry of life, and firmly believes in the coming realities they are supposed to foreshadow; while the ambitious man tries to expound them in favor of his hopes and prospects, often guiding his actions by some indistinct suggestion they convey to his mind. When a Greek woman has had a remarkable dream, she will consult her Ὄνειρο, or book of dreams, the Bulgarian will gossip over it with her neighbors, often accepting their interpretation, and the Turkish woman will do the same, but if not satisfied with the explanations given, she has the alternative of consulting the Hodja, who will find a better meaning in his “learned books.”

A projected contract of marriage is often arrested by the unfavorable interpretation of a dream, or a marriage that had not previously been imagined is entered into under the same influence. The vocations of a man may be changed by a dream, and the destinies of a family trusted to its guidance. Dreams are often used as a medium of discovering truth, and are efficacious instruments in the hands of those who know how to use them. A Turkish servant was suspected by one of my friends of having stolen a sum of money which she missed from her safe. The lady called in the woman and said to her, “Nasibeh, I dreamed last night that while I was out the other day you walked into my room and took the money that was there.” The culprit, taken by surprise, exclaimed, with too much earnestness, “I did not take it!” My friend responded, “I have not accused you of having taken it, but since you deny it so earnestly you are open to suspicion. If the money is not there you must have taken it.” After a little pressure the woman confessed that, tempted by the Sheytan, she had done so, but that she would give it back, promising to be honest for the future. She was retained in her situation, and, be it said to her credit, was never again found guilty.

The most trivial circumstances connected with the birth of a child are considered of good or bad omen according to the interpretation given to them. Trifling accidents happening on a wedding-day have also their signification; so have the breaking of a looking-glass, the accidental spilling of oil, sweeping the house after the master has left it to go on a journey, the meeting of a funeral or of a priest, a hare crossing the path, and a thousand other every-day occurrences. The Turks, after cutting their nails, will never throw away the parings, but carefully keep them in cracks of the walls or the boards, where they are not likely to be scattered about. This is based on the idea that at the resurrection day they will be needed for the formation of new ones.

Sultan Mahmoud, the grandfather of the present Sultan, was in his bath when the news of the birth of his son Abdul-Aziz was announced to him. The tidings are said to have made him look sad and thoughtful; he heaved a deep sigh, and expressed his regret at having been informed of the event when divested of his clothing, saying it was a bad omen, and his son was likely to leave his people as naked as the news of his birth had found his father. Unfortunately for the nation, this prediction was but too exactly realized.

Predictions have great influence over the Mohammedan mind. On the eve of great battles, or on the occasion of any great political change, prophecies are consulted and astrologers appealed to, to prognosticate the issue of the coming event. Many of these individuals have paid with their heads for the non-fulfilment of their prophecies.

The last prediction in circulation at Stamboul, uttered since the death of Sultan Abdul-Aziz, says that seven sultans must succeed each other, most of them dying violent deaths, before the Empire will be secure.

While living at a farm near Broussa, situated a few miles from the town, not far from the ruins of a fine old hostelry called the “Bloody Khan,” my mother was one moonlight night accosted by an old Turk while we were out walking. He was a stranger in the place, tall and handsome, with a snowy beard falling upon his slightly bent chest. A peculiar, restless look about the eyes, and the numerous scars that covered his bare breast and face were evident indications that whatever his present calling might be, his past life must have been a stormy and adventurous one. He walked quietly towards us, and stopping before my mother, with a certain amount of respect mingled with paternal familiarity, said to her, “Kuzim, gel! (Daughter, come!) I have a secret to reveal to you.” My mother followed him, and half amused and wholly incredulous listened to the following recital. Pointing to the “Bloody Khan,” which, being situated upon the principal road leading into the interior, had once been occupied by a band of forty robbers, he said, “I was the chief of the band of brigands that occupied that Khan. You must know its story. Forty years have passed during which my faithful followers have been caught, killed, or dispersed, leaving me the sole representative of the band. A timely repentance of my evil ways led me to make a Tubé vow and renounce the old trade. I have since lived in peace with Allah and with men. I have sworn to lay violent hands on no man’s property more; but my conscience does not rebel against attempting to recover what I had buried beneath yonder wall. I want your powerful concurrence to dig out this buried treasure, the greater part of which will be yours.” My mother naturally refused to have anything to do with the affair. Seeing her unwillingness, the old man tried all his powers of persuasion to induce her to take part in his plan, saying, “On me, my daughter, be the sin. I will rest content with a small portion of what will be recovered, all the rest I abandon to you!” Finding this last inducement had no more effect than his previous promises, he turned away, saying, “Since you refuse I must seek somebody else.” Among the few Mohammedan inhabitants of the small village his choice fell upon the Imam, whose enterprising face promised the old man better success. The cunning Imam, on hearing the brigand’s tale, being persuaded of its veracity, at once promised his assistance, mentally deciding, however, that he would be the only one to profit by the hidden treasure. He at once began to make use of the usual stratagem of superstition, which could alone secure the success of his plan. Telling the old man that according to his books ill-gained wealth must be in the possession of evil spirits, and that in order to guard themselves against their influences during their digging enterprise, and to prevent the treasure from turning into charcoal, a peculiar process of appeasing and soothing incantations would be needed; but that he would at once proceed to perform these, and at the first crowing of the cock all would be ready, and they would proceed together to the spot and unearth the treasure. The credulous old chief stroked his beard, and said that with Allah’s help and the good-will of the Peris by the next day they would be rich men. In the course of the night, as arranged, the two, spade in hand, leading the Imam’s horse bearing saddle bags, proceeded to the spot. The Imam commenced operations by surrounding himself and his companion with as many magical observances as he could invent. Telling him to remove the first spadeful of earth, they went on digging alternately until a hollow sound told the sharp ear of the Imam that the distance between them and the coveted wealth was not great. He threw down his spade, and again resorting to magical mummeries declared that the danger was imminent, as the spell foretold resistance on the part of the spirits, and a refusal to yield possession unless a goat were at once sacrificed to them. “Go,” said he, earnestly, “back to the mosque, and in the small chamber you will find three goats; take the milk-white one and bring it here. Do not hurry it much, but lead it gently, as becomes the virtue of the offering.” The old man, nothing doubting, with Turkish nonchalance went quietly back to the village, which lay about three miles distant. The Imam once rid of him, and when in no danger of being seen or heard, set actively to work, got out the treasure, placed it in his saddle-bags, mounted, and rode off, and was never seen or heard of in the village again. The old man returned in due time, accompanied by the goat, to find nothing but his spades, the pile of earth, and the gaping hole. Disgusted, disappointed, and enraged, he came back to the village, and early next morning made his appearance at the farm. Inquiring for my mother, he acquainted her with the pitiable results of his attempt. This time the curiosity of the whole family was roused, and we all proceeded in a body to the spot. The old man’s assertions proved to be perfectly correct, and my brother, upsetting part of the upturned earth, discovered a handsome silver dish and cup, which we took home with us as trophies of the strange adventure.

The following strange incident happened at Broussa when I was a child. Incredible as it may appear, its authenticity cannot be disputed, and a statement of the fact may be found in the Consular Reports made at the time to the Foreign Office:

The monotonous life of the inhabitants of this romantic old city, which a French improvisateur justly designated as un tombeau couvert de roses, was one morning startled by the arrival of a band of fifty or sixty wild-looking people—men, women, and a few children. None knew whence they came or what they wanted. Some of them, dressed as Fakirs, spoke bad Turkish; the rest used a guttural dialect unintelligible to any but themselves. Their costume, composed of a sheet or wrapper, left their arms, legs, and tattooed breasts bare; white turbans, from under which a quantity of matted hair hung, covered the heads of the men. The women, whose arms and breasts were bare, wore brass and bead ornaments, large rings in their ears, and a sheet over their heads. They were fine, strongly-built people, with regular features and bronzed skins. This nomad band, which was conjectured to have come from some distant part of Central Asia, took up its quarters at Bournabashi, a beautiful spot outside the walls of the town, where a grove of cypress trees shelter a fine mausoleum containing the saintly remains of one of the first chieftains who accompanied Sultan Orkhan and settled in the city after the conquest. His shrine, much venerated by the Mohammedans, is a resort for pilgrims, who may often be seen performing their ablutions at the cool fountains by the side of the vale, or devoutly bending to say their namaz under the shade of the imposing trees, having lighted tapers on the tomb.

It must have been some mysterious legend connected with the life and deeds of this reputed saint, mixed up, as most Oriental legends are, with the supernatural, that, finding its way back to his native land, and discovered or expounded centuries later by his savage kindred, led them to undertake this long journey and do homage at the tomb of the Emir. Their actions seem, however, to have been prompted partly by interested motives, for their legend seems mysteriously to have stated that great riches had been buried with him, whose possession was only attainable by human sacrifice. The easy consciences of the fanatics do not appear to have felt any scruples with regard to the means they were to use, and in their zeal, stimulated by their greed for gain and by superstition, they undertook the long journey that, after perhaps months of hardship and toil, led them to their goal.

The day after their arrival they were seen in twos and threes scouring the town, crossing and recrossing all its streets under the pretext of begging, but, as subsequently discovered, with the real object of kidnapping children. According to their confession, forty was the number needed, whose fat boiled down was to be moulded into tapers, which, burning day and night on the tomb of the Emir, were to soften the spirits into complaisance and induce them to give up the treasure they guarded in its original state, and not in charcoal, as would be the case if this all-important part of the operation were omitted by the searchers. The news of the appearance of the kidnappers, with some inkling of their object, soon spread through the town and began to terrorize the inhabitants of the Christian quarters, where they were principally seen loitering, when palpable evidence of their operations was brought before the English Consul by the timely rescue of two Armenian children, who had been half strangled, one being brought in insensible and the other having on its throat the deep and bleeding nail-marks of the two ruffians from whose hands the children had been rescued by some passers-by, who interrupted the murderous work as it was being executed in the sombre archway of a ruined old Roman bridge crossing the ravine that intersects the town. The Consul at once proceeded to the Governor and requested that the case should at once be looked into. But the sacred character of Fakir protecting some of these men made public investigation difficult, and the authorities hushed up the matter, and only signified to the band that they must renounce their project and leave the country. They did so, expressing their deep regret at the want of faith of the authorities, and bitterly reproaching them with their refusal to co-operate tacitly with their desire.

CHAPTER XXI.
ISLAM IN TURKEY.

Religious Parties—The Ulema and Softas—Conservatism—Imams, Muftis, and Kadis or Mollahs—Corruption—The Dervishes—Their Influence over the People—A Dervish Fanatic in Bulgaria—Various Orders of Dervishes—Revolving and Howling Dervishes—The Bektashis—A Frank Sheikh—Ceremonies of Islam—Friday at the Mosque—The Prayers—Ramazan—A Night in Ramazan—Pilgrimage—Kismet.

The religion of the Turks is properly the orthodox or Sunni form of Islam, the doctrines of which are too well known to require description here. But the subject is complicated by the fact that there is a considerable opposition between the popular and the “respectable” religion. The Established Church, so to speak, of Turkey is governed by the Ulema, or learned men trained in the mosques, often supported by pious endowments. The popular faith, on the other hand, is led by the various sects of dervishes, between whom and the Ulema there exists an unconquerable rivalry. Some account of these two parties is essential to any description of the people of Turkey.

The Ulema are the hereditary expounders of the Koran, to the traditional interpretation of which they rigidly adhere. They have nothing to say to the many innovations that time has shown to be needful in the religion of Mohammed, and they brand as heretics all who differ a hair’s-breadth from the old established line. The result of this uncompromising orthodoxy has been that the Ulema, together with their subordinates the Softas (a sort of Moslem undergraduates), have managed to preserve an esprit de corps and a firm collected line of action that is without a parallel in Turkish parties.

Midhat Pasha and his party perceived this, and made use of the Ulema as tools to effect their purpose; but as soon as the coup d’état was completed, Midhat Pasha’s first care was to free himself as much as possible from further obligations towards them, and to break up their power by exile, imprisonment, and general persecution. He understood that if left to acquire further ascendency in public affairs, great mischief would ensue. The Ulema were clamoring loudly for reforms; but the reforms they demanded were those of the ancient Osmanlis and the execution of the Sheriat or Koran laws, which, equitable as they are among Mohammedans, would not improve the condition of the rayah. Herein lies the chief reason why reforms in Turkey remain for the most part a dead letter. The Koran has no conception of the possibility of Christian subjects enjoying the same rights as their Moslem neighbors. No judge, therefore, likes to go against this spirit; and no good Mohammedan can ever bring himself to a level with a caste marked by his Prophet with the brand of inferiority. Midhat Pasha, thoroughly cognizant of this fact, could not enter into a pact with the Ulema, the strictest observers of the Koran law, and at the same time satisfy the urgent demands of Europe in favor of the Christian subjects of the Porte. He did the best he knew in the midst of these difficulties, and produced his constitution. This was construed in one light to the Mohammedans, and in another to the Christians; whilst it was intended to pacify Europe by insuring, nominally at least, the reforms demanded by her for the rayahs. Nobody, however, believed in the Constitution. The Mohammedans never meant to carry it into execution; and Europe, in its divided opinions on the subject, had the satisfaction of seeing it submerged in the vortex of succeeding events.

The order of Ulema is divided into three classes: the Imams, or ministers of religion; the Muftis, doctors of the law; and the Kadis or Mollahs, judges. Each of these classes is subdivided into a number of others, according to the rank and functions of those that compose it.

The imams, after passing an examination, are appointed by the Sheikh ul Islam to the office of priests in the mosques. The fixed pay they receive is small, about 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 to put a noisy fanatic to death; and even in his case the wisdom, as well as the humanity, of the act may be questioned. Most grandees would think twice before they offended a dervish. For popular credulity accords to these strange men extraordinary powers—the gift of foreknowledge, the power of working miracles, and of enduring privations and sufferings beyond the limits of ordinary human endurance; and, not least, these enthusiasts are believed to have the power of giving people good or evil wishes, which never fail to come to pass, and which no human action can resist.

In spite of this apparently fanatical and charlatan character, there is much that is liberal and undogmatical about the dervishes. I have certainly met with many broad-minded, tolerant men among the sheikhs of their orders, and have been struck by the charm of their conversation no less than their enlightened views and their genuine good-will towards mankind.

On the other hand, though asceticism is part of the dervish’s creed, and though there be among them really honest and great men, it must be admitted that a good many dervishes entertain not the faintest scruples about intoxication and a good many other pleasures which do not seem very strictly in accordance with their vows. Among the wandering dervishes many savage and thoroughly bad characters are to be met with. They roam from country to country; climate, privation, hardships of all kinds, deter them not; they come from all lands and they go to all lands, but those of Persia and Bokhara surpass the rest in cunning, fanaticism, and brutality. There is no vice into which some of them do not plunge; and all the time they display a revolting excess of religious zeal, couched in the foulest and most abusive vocabulary their language affords.

One of these wretches once stopped my carriage under the windows of the Governor’s house at Monastir, and before the kavass had time to interfere he had jumped in and was vociferating “Giaour” and a host of other invectives in my face. It was lucky the guard was near and prompt in arresting him. Next day he was packed out of the town for the fourth time.

Notwithstanding their vices, nothing can exceed the veneration in which the dervishes are held by the public, over whom they exercise an irresistible influence. This influence is especially made use of in time of war, when a motley company of sheikhs and fanatical dervishes join the army, and encourage the officers and men by rehearsing the benefits promised by the Prophet to all who fight or die for the true faith. The voices of these excited devotees may be heard crying, “O ye victorious!” “O ye martyrs!” or “Yallah!” Some of these men are fearful fanatics, who endeavor by every means in their power to stimulate the religious zeal of the troops and of the nation. Every word they utter is poison to public peace. Among the numerous gangs of infatuated zealots that spread themselves over the country just before the outbreak of the troubles in Bulgaria, there was one wandering dervish who specially distinguished himself by the pernicious influence his prophecies and adjurations obtained over the minds of the Mohammedan population, exciting them against their Christian neighbors, who were completely “terrorized” by his denunciations.

The venerable Bishop of the town of L⸺ related to me the visit he had received from this dangerous individual, and assured me that this fanatic was in some measure the cause of the lamentable events that followed.

He first appeared in the town of X⸺, where, after preaching his death mission among the Mohammedans a few days before the Greek Easter, he walked up to the quarter of the town occupied by some of the principal Christian families, and knocking at each door entered and announced to the inmates that Allah had revealed to him His pleasure and His decrees for the destruction of the infidels within the third day of Easter. On reaching the dwelling of the Bishop he requested a personal interview, and made the same declaration to him.

The Bishop, with some of the leading inhabitants, alarmed at this threatening speech, proceeded at once to the Governor-General, and related the incident to him. The dervish was sent for, and, in the presence of the Bishop and his companions, asked if he had said what was reported of him, and what he meant by such an assertion. The dervish merely shrugged his shoulders, and said that he was in his hal, or ecstatic state, and could not therefore be answerable for what he talked about. The Pasha sent him under escort to the town of A⸺, with a letter to the governor of that place requesting his exile to Broussa; but the wily ascetic soon managed to escape the surveillance of the police of A⸺, and continued his mission in other parts of Bulgaria.

It is impossible here to enter into details as to the constitution of the various dervish orders (of which there are many), or the tenets held by them, or the ceremonies of initiation and of worship. Still, a few words are necessary about the two or three leading orders of dervishes in Turkey. The most graceful are the Mevlevi, or revolving dervishes, with their sugar-loaf hats, long skirts, and loose jubbés. Once or twice a week public service is performed at the Mevlevi Khané, to which spectators are admitted. The devotions begin by the recital of the usual namaz, after which the sheikh proceeds to his pistiki, or sheepskin mat, and raising his hands offers with great earnestness the prayer to the Pir, or spirit of the founder of the order, asking his intercession with God on behalf of the order. He then steps off his pistiki and bows his head with deep humility towards it, as if it were now occupied by his Pir; then, in slow and measured step, he walks three times round the Semar Khané, bowing to the right and left with crossed toes as he passes his seat, his subordinates following and doing the same. This part of the ceremony (called the Sultan Veled Devri) over, the sheikh stands on the pistiki with bowed head, while the brethren in the mutrib, or orchestra, chant a hymn in honor of the Prophet, followed by a sweet and harmonious performance on the flute.

The Semar Zan, director of the performance, proceeds to the sheikh, who stands on the edge of his pistiki, and, after making a deep obeisance, walks to the centre of the hall, and gives a signal to the other brethren, who let fall their tennouris, take off their jubbés, and proceed in single file with folded arms to the sheikh, kiss his hand, receive in return a kiss on their hats, and there begin whirling round, using the left foot as a pivot while they push themselves round with the right. Gradually the arms are raised upwards and then extended outwards, the palm of the right hand being turned up and the left bent towards the floor. With closed eyes and heads reclining towards the right shoulder they continue turning, muttering the inaudible zikr, saying, “Allah, Allah!” to the sound of the orchestra and the chant that accompanies it, ending with the exclamation, “O friend!” when the dancers suddenly cease to turn. The sheikh, still standing, again receives the obeisance of the brethren as they pass his pistiki, and the dance is renewed. When it is over, they resume their seats on the floor, and are covered with their jubbés. The service ends with a prayer for the Sultan.

The whole of the ceremony is extremely harmonious and interesting: the bright and variegated colors of the dresses, the expert and graceful way in which the dervishes spin round, bearing on their faces at the same time a look of deep humility and devotion, together with the dignified attitude and movements of the sheikh, combine to form a most impressive sight.

Equally curious are the Rifa’i, or howling dervishes. They wear a mantle edged with green, a belt in which are lodged one or three big stones, to compress the hunger to which a dervish is liable, and a white felt hat marked with eight grooves (terks), each denoting the renunciation of a cardinal sin. In their devotions they become strangely excited, their limbs become frightfully contorted, their faces deadly pale; then they dance in the most grotesque manner, howling meanwhile; cut themselves with knives, swallow fire and swords, burn their bodies, pierce their ears, and finally swoon. A sacred word whispered by two elders of the order brings the unconscious men round, and their wounds are healed by the touch of the sheikh’s hand, moistened from his mouth. It is strange and horrible to witness the ceremonies of this order; but in these barbarous performances the devout recognize the working of the Divine Spirit.

But the order which is admitted to be the most numerous and important in Turkey is that of the Bektashis. Like all dervish orders, they consider themselves the first and greatest religious sect in the universe; and for this they have the following excellent reason. One day their founder, Hadji Bektash, and some of his followers were sitting on a wall, when they saw a rival dervish approaching them, mounted upon a roaring lion, which he chastised by means of a serpent which he held in his hand as a whip. The disciples marvelling at this, Hadji Bektash said: “My brothers, there is no merit in riding a lion; but there is merit in making the wall on which we are sitting advance towards the lion, and stop the way of the lion and its rider.” Whereupon the wall marched slowly upon the enemy, carrying Hadji Bektash and his followers against the lion-rider, who saw nothing for it but to acknowledge the supremacy of the rival sheikh.

The Bektashis are followers of the Khalif Ali, and attribute to him and his descendants all the extravagant qualities which the Alides have from time to time invented. These dervishes have also many superstitious beliefs connected with their girdle, cap, and cloak. One ceremony with the stone worn in the girdle is rather striking. The sheikh puts it in and out seven times, saying, “I tie up greediness and unbind generosity. I tie up anger and unbind meekness. I tie up ignorance and unbind the fear of God. I tie up passion and unbind the love of God. I tie up the devilish and unbind the divine.”

The special veneration of the Khalif Ali by this order renders it particularly hateful to the orthodox Mussulmans; and yet, strange to say, it acquired great popularity in the Ottoman Empire, especially among the Janissaries, who when first formed into a corps were blessed by Hadji Bektash in person. The new troops are said to have been led by Sultan Orkhan into the presence of the sheikh near Amassia, when the Sultan implored his benediction, and the gift of a standard and a flag for his new force. The sheikh, stretching out one of his arms over the head of a soldier, with the end of the sleeve hanging down behind, blessed the corps, calling it yenicheri, the “new troop,” prophesying at the same time that “its figure shall be fair and shining, its arm redoubtable, its sword cutting, and its arrows steeled. It shall be victorious in all battles, and only return triumphant.” A pendant representing the sleeve of the sheikh was added to the felt cap of the Janissaries in commemoration of the benediction of Hadji Bektash. Most of the Janissaries were incorporated into the order of Bektashis, and formed that formidable body of men, who, adding the profession of the monk to the chivalrous spirit of the warrior, may be considered the Knights Templars of Islam.

During the reign of Sultan Mahmoud II. the destruction of the Janissaries was followed by the persecution of the Bektashis, for whom the orthodox Mohammedans of the present day entertain a sovereign contempt.

The votaries of the Bektashi order in European Turkey are most numerous among the Albanians, where they are said to number over 80,000. A few years ago they were subjected to persecutions, which seem to have been caused by the little regard they displayed for the forms of orthodox Islam, from which they widely deviate. The point that gives special offence to the Turk is the little attention paid by the wives of these sectarians to the Mussulman laws of namekhram (concealment), with which they all dispense when the husband gives them permission to appear before his friends. Polygamy is only practised among Albanian Bektashis when the first wife has some defect or infirmity.

There is much that is virtuous and liberal in the tenets of this order, but very little of it is put into practice. This neglect is proved by the disordered and unscrupulous lives often led by Bektashis, and is accounted for by the existence of two distinct paths they feel equally authorized to follow: one leading to the performance of all the duties and virtues prescribed, and the other in which they lay these aside and follow the bent of their own natural inclinations.

Some of the principal monasteries of the Bektashis are to be found in Asia Minor in the vilayet of Broussa. A Greek gentleman of my acquaintance had strange adventures in one of their settlements at M⸺, where his roving disposition had led him to purchase an estate. After living for some years among this half-savage set, he became a great favorite, was received into their order, and finally elected as their chief, when he was presented with the emblematic stones of the order, which he wore on his person. One day, however, he narrowly escaped paying dearly for the honor.

A herd of pigs belonging to him escaped from the farm, and took the road to the Tekké, into which they rushed, while the congregation were assembled for their devotions. The excited animals, grunting and squealing, mingled wildly with the devotees, profaning the sacred edifice and its occupants by their detested presence. The Bektashis sprang to their feet, and with one accord cried out to the owner of the unclean animals to ask if, in consequence of his infidel origin, he had played this trick upon them, and declaring that if it were so he should pay the forfeit with his life. The Bektashi sheikh displayed remarkable presence of mind at this critical moment. Rising to his feet, he looked round, assumed an attitude and expression of deep devotion, and in an inspired voice exclaimed, “Oh, ye ignorant and benighted brethren, see ye not that these swine, enlightened from on high, are impelled to confess the true faith and to join us in our worship? Let them pass through the ordeal, and tax not a creature of Allah with the effecting of an event for which He alone is responsible.” Strange to say, this explanation satisfied the devotees. It illustrates curiously the peculiar character of the dervishes, their faith in their sheikhs, and their belief in extraordinary inspiration.

The ceremonies of Islam are observed in Turkey in much the same way as in other Moslem countries. On Friday all good, and most indifferent, Mohammedans go to the mosque for the public prayer; but of course there is no touch of Sabbatarianism among the Turks any more than among any other followers of Mohammed. In most mosques women are admitted to a retired part of the edifice; but it is only elderly ladies who go. In some mosques at Stamboul, where the women’s department is partitioned off, the attendance is larger, especially during Ramazan. Last year I went dressed as a Turkish lady to the evening prayer during the fast. It was a strange sight to me, and the excitement was increased by the knowledge of the unpleasant consequences that would follow the penetration of my disguise. The Turkish women seemed out of place there: their levity contrasted markedly with the grave bearing of the men on the other side of the partition. The view I thus obtained of the beautiful mosque of Sultan Ahmet was singularly impressive. The Ulema, in their green and white turbans and graceful robes, absorbed in the performance of their religious duties; officers in bright uniforms, and civilians in red fez and black coat, side by side with wild-looking dervishes and the common people in the varied and picturesque costumes of the different nations, all knelt in rows upon the soft carpets, or went through the various postures of that religion before which all men are equal. Not a whisper disturbed the clear melodious voice of the old Hodja as he pronounced the Terravi prayers, which the congregation took up in chorus, now prostrating their faces on the ground, now slowly rising: you could fancy it a green corn-field, studded with poppies, billowing under the breeze. Above were the numberless lamps that shone in the stately dome.

You can give no higher praise to a Turk than saying that he performs his five prayers a-day. In right of this qualification young men of no position and as little merit are often chosen as sons-in-law by pious people. A Turk of the old school is proud of his religion, and is never ashamed of letting you see it. So long as he can turn his face towards Mekka, he will say his prayers anywhere. The Turks like to say their namaz in public, that they may have praise of men; and it is to be feared that a good deal of hypocrisy goes on in this matter. This, however, is on the decrease, because fewer Turks in all classes say their prayers or observe the outward forms of religion than formerly. This is no doubt partly due to the influence of “Young Turkey,” though other causes are also at work.

But the orthodox Turk must do more than observe the prayers. The fast of Ramazan is a very important part of his religious routine. Every one knows this terrible month of day-fasting and night-feasting. It tells most severely on the poor, who keep it strictly, and are compelled to work during the day exactly as when not fasting. Women also of all classes observe the fast religiously. But there are very few among the higher officials, or the gentlemen who have enrolled themselves under the banner of La Jeune Turquie, who take any notice of it, except in public, where they are obliged to show outward respect to the prejudices of the people.

This fast-month is a sort of revival-time to the Moslems. They are supposed to devote more time to the careful study of the Koran and to the minute practice of its ordinances. Charity, peacefulness, hospitality, almsgiving, are among the virtues which they specially cultivate at this time; and though the theory is not put in practice to the letter, and hospitality not carried out as originally intended—the rich man standing at his door at sunset, bringing in and setting at his table all the poor that happened to pass by, and sending them away with presents of money—it is still very largely practised.

I have often partaken of an Iftar, or Ramazan dinner. It is very curious to observe the physiognomy of the Terriakis, or great smokers and coffee-drinkers, who, as the moment of indulgence approaches, become restless and cross, now sighing for the firing of the gun that proclaims the fast at an end, now indulging in bad language to the people who gather round and tease them. As the sun approaches the horizon, a tray is brought in laden with all sorts of sweets, salads, salt fish, Ramazan cakes, fruit and olives, contained in the tiniest coffee-saucers, together with goblets of delicious iced sherbet. When the gun is fired every one utters a Bismillah and takes an olive, that fruit being considered five times more blessed than water to break the fast with. After the contents of the tray have been sparingly partaken of, dinner is announced, and all gather round the sofra; few, however, eat with appetite, or relish the dinner half so much as they do the cup of coffee and cigarettes that follow.

During Ramazan night is turned into day, and the streets then remind one of carnival time in Catholic countries. The wealthy sit up all night, receiving and returning calls, giving evening parties, spending the time in a round of feasts and entertainments. At Stamboul, when the prayer of the Terravi—which is recited two hours after sunset—is over in the mosque, all the people betake themselves to the esplanade of the Sulimanieh, and hundreds of elegant carriages containing Turkish beauties may be seen cutting their way through the dense crowd of promenaders. The bazars are illuminated, and all the fruit and refreshment shops are open. Eating, drinking sherbet, and smoking, is the order of the evening, besides a great amount of flirtation. I cannot say that there is much taste or refinement in this unusual but tacitly recognized passing intercourse. The ladies all appear in high spirits, and tolerate, and even seem amused by, the acts of gross impertinence to which they are subjected by male passers-by. Some of the fast men and mauvais sujets indulge in acts and language that would certainly obtain the interference of the police in an orderly society.

I accompanied some friends, the family of one of the ministers, to this evening entertainment. We had six servants round the carriage, but they were no protection against the heaps of rubbish in the shape of lighted cigarette ends, parched peas, capsicums, and fruit of all kinds thrown into it, not to speak of the licentious little speeches addressed to us by passing beaux. My friends advised me to be on my guard, as action is often added to word, and the arms and hands of the occupants of the vehicles made to smart from the liberties taken with them. Thus forewarned, I took care to shut the window on my side of the carriage; a little scream from my companions every now and then, when we found ourselves in the densest part of the crowd, followed by a shower of abuse from the negress sitting opposite us, showed that my precaution had not been needless. The little respect paid to women in this indiscriminate mêlée, where the dignity of the Sultana was no more regarded than the modesty of the lowly pedestrian, struck me forcibly. It made the greater impression upon me as it contrasted strongly with the respect paid to her under other circumstances. In steam-boats, for example, an unattended Turkish woman is seldom known to be insulted, even when her conduct gives provocation.

Three hours before dawn, drums are beaten and verses sung through the streets to warn the people to prepare for the sahor, or supper, after which an hour’s leisure is accorded for smoking and coffee-drinking, when the firing of a gun announces the moment for rinsing the mouth and sealing it against food till sunset. All business is put off by the wealthy during the day, which is filled up by sleep; while the poor go through the day’s work unrefreshed.

Pilgrimages, though less practised now than formerly in Turkey, are still considered the holiest actions of a Mohammedan’s life. The most perfect is the one embracing the visit to the four sacred spots of Islam—Damascus, Jerusalem, Mekka, and Medina; but the long journey that this would entail, the dangers and difficulties that surround it, are checks upon all but the most zealous of pilgrims, and only a few hardy and enterprising individuals perform the duty in full. The pilgrims, collected from all parts of the country, leave Constantinople in a body fifteen days before the fast of Ramazan. The Government facilitates this departure by giving free passages and other grants. Those pilgrims that go viâ Damascus are the bearers of the Imperial presents to the holy shrines. Every Hadji on returning from Mekka bears a token of his pilgrimage in a tattoo mark on his arm and between his thumb and forefinger.

I cannot close a chapter on Islam in Turkey without referring to a belief which, though but vaguely introduced into the original faith of Mohammed, has come to mean everything to the Turk. I mean Kismet. It is not, of course, the belief in an inevitable destiny that is remarkable: all nations have their share in that, and modern Christianity has sometimes carefully formulated the doctrine of the fatalist. It is rather the intensity of the Turk’s belief, and his dogged insistance on its logical results, that make it so extraordinary. Many people besides Turks believe in destiny, but their belief does not prevent them from consulting their doctor or avoiding infection. With the Turk all such precautions are vain: if it is kismet that a thing shall happen, happen it will, and what then is the good of trying to avert it? Everything in Turkey is controlled by kismet. If a man suffers some trifling loss, it is kismet; if he die, it is also kismet. He marries by kismet, and shortly divorces his wife by the same influence. He succeeds in life, or he fails: it is kismet. Sultans succeed one another—again kismet. Armies go forth to conquer or to be conquered—Fate rules the event. It is useless to fight against the decrees of kismet. That Fate helps him who helps himself is a doctrine incomprehensible to the Turk. He lies passive in the hand of destiny: it would be impious to rebel.

The effects of this doctrine lie on the surface. Not only are lives constantly sacrificed, and wealth and happiness lost by this fatal principle of passivity, but the whole character of the nation is enfeebled. The Turk has no rightful ambition: if it is kismet he should succeed, well and good; but if not, no efforts of his own can avail him. Hence he smokes his chibouk and makes no efforts at all. Something might be done with him if he would only show some energy of character; but this doctrine has sapped that energy at the root, and there is no vitality left.

This is the main disastrous result of fatalism: it has destroyed the vigor of a once powerful nation. But every day brings forth instances of lesser evils flowing from the same source. It is hardly necessary to point out in how many ways a fatalist injures himself and all belonging to him. One or two common cases will be enough. I have already referred to the neglect of all sanitary precautions as one of the results of the belief in kismet. This neglect is shown in a thousand ways; but one or two instances that I remember may point the moral. Turkey is especially liable to epidemics, and of course the havoc they create is terrible among a passive population. In all district towns the Turks manifest the greatest possible dislike and opposition to every species of quarantine: they regard quarantine regulations as profane interference with the decrees of God, and systematically disregard them. The doctor of the first quarantine establishment at Broussa was assaulted in the street by several hundred Turkish women, who beat him nearly to death, from which he was only saved by the police. Small-pox is among the most fatal of the scourges that invade the people, and Turkish children are frequently victims to it; yet it is with the utmost difficulty that a Turk can be induced to vaccinate his child, though, happily, the precaution is now more practised than it used to be.

Separation in sickness is another of the measures Turks can never be made to take. A short time ago a girl of fourteen, the daughter of our kavass, was seized with an attack of quinsy. As soon as I heard of it I begged our doctor to accompany me to the Mohammedan quarter and visit the invalid. We found her lying on a clean shelté, or mattress, on the floor, which was equally occupied by her young brothers and sisters, who were playing round and trying to amuse her. The doctor’s first care was to send away the children, and recommend that they should on no account be allowed to come near her, as her throat was in a most terrible condition. Both parents declared that it would be impossible to keep them away; besides, if it was their kismet to be also visited by the disease, nothing could avert it. The room occupied by the sick girl was clean and tidy; the doors and windows, facing the sea, fronted by a veranda, were open, and the house being situated in the highest part of the town, under the ruins of the old walls, the sharp April air was allowed free access to the chamber most injuriously to the invalid. On the attention of the parents being drawn to the fact, they simply answered that the feverish state of the child needed the cool air to such an extent that twice during the preceding night she had left her room and gone down to the yard to repose upon the cold stone slabs in order to cool herself!

In spite of every effort to save her, she died on the third night from exhaustion caused by her refusal to take the medicines and nourishment provided for her, and to be kept in her chamber, which she had abandoned, taking up her quarters on the balcony, where we saw her on the last day. On visiting the family after the sad event, we found the unhappy parents distracted with sorrow, but still accepting it with fatalistic resignation, saying that “her edjel had come to call her away from among the living.”

Our attention was next attracted by three of the children. The youngest, a baby, appeared choking from the effects of the same complaint, and died the same night. The other two, a boy and girl, also attacked, were playing about, although in high fever and with dreadfully swollen throats. The doctor begged that they should be sent to bed, to which they both refused to submit, while the parents phlegmatically said that it would be a useless measure, as they could not be kept there, and that if it should be their kismet to recover they would do so. I am glad to say they did recover, though I am afraid their recovery did not convert the doctor and me to a belief in kismet.

Owing to this fatal and general way of treating sickness, the prescriptions of physicians, neither believed in nor carried out, are useless; besides, they are always interfered with and disputed by quacks and old women, and the muskas, prayers, and blowings of saintly Hodjas.

When the patient survives this extraordinary combination of nursing, it is simply stated that his edjel or death-summons has not yet arrived.

If a man die away from his home and country, his kismet is supposed to have summoned him to die on the spot that received his body.

Kismet thus being the main fountain whence the Mohammedan draws with equanimity both the good and the evil it may please Providence to pour forth upon him, he receives both with the stoicism of the born-and-bred fatalist, who looks upon every effort of his own to change the decrees of destiny as vain and futile. Hence he becomes Moslem, or “resigned,” in the most literal sense. His character gains that quality of inertness which we associate with the Oriental, and his nation becomes, what a nation cannot become and live—stagnant.

CHAPTER XXII.
CHRISTIANITY IN TURKEY.

The Greek or Holy Orthodox Church—Its Character under Ottoman Rule—Its Service to the Greek Nation—Superstitious Doctrines and Rites—Improvement—Revenues—Bishops—Patriarchs—The Higher Clergy—Schools—Parish Priests—Fatal Influence of Connection with the State—Monasteries—Mount Athos—The Five Categories of Monks—Government of the “Holy Mountain”—Pilgrims—The Bulgarian Church—Popular Interest in the Church Question—Sketch of the History of the Schism—The Armenian Church—St. Gregory—Creed—Church Polity—influence of Russia—Contest between the Czar and the Catholicos—Ritual—Clergy.

It has long been the custom to fling a good deal of contumely on the Holy Orthodox or Greek Church. Judging from the descriptions of trustworthy writers, from conversations I have often held with persons of authority on the subject, and from personal observation, I feel convinced that if part of the abuse heaped upon the Greek Church is well founded, the greater portion is due to the rivalry and hatred of the Western Church, and to the antipathy felt by the Reformed Church towards her superstitions and formalities; but a still stronger reason may be found in the errors the church still harbors, and in the ignorance in which her clergy remained so long plunged. Taking this as a general rule, and lamenting its consequences, we should on the other hand bear in mind the great antiquity of the church and its early services to Christianity. Some of its rites and ceremonies are certainly superstitious and superfluous, but there is none of the intolerance of the Romish Church, nor are religious persecutions to be laid to its charge. Its clergy, stigmatized as venal and ignorant tools in the hands of the Turks, have nevertheless had their virtues and redeeming points counterbalancing their evil repute. The rivalry of the upper clergy originated principally in the corrupt system of bribery pursued by them in their relations with the Porte for the grant of berats or diplomas installing the Patriarchs in their respective seats, and the practice indulged in by the Patriarchs of selling bishoprics at a price in proportion to the wealth of the diocese. Yet in the midst of this darkness there were still found men to carry on the work of culture and uphold the dignity of the church. Nor have the Greek clergy always been the cringing servants of the Porte, or the go-betweens of the Turks and the rayahs; in the list of the Patriarchs we find many who, in the midst of difficulties inevitable in serving a government foreign to their church and hostile to the hopes and aspirations of their people, hesitated not in moments of supreme need to sacrifice position, fortune, and even life, under most horrible circumstances, for the sake of the church. With memories of such martyrdoms ever present in the minds of a dependent clergy, it is not surprising to find this section of the Greek nation apparently so subservient to their rulers. The past, however, with all its blots, is rapidly passing away; the rules now followed by the Patriarchate in fixed salaries and written regulations with regard to certain contributions have put an end to many former abuses. The theological schools, rapidly increasing in number and importance in Turkey as well as in Greece, have also a beneficial effect on the training of the clergy, who daily attaining a higher standard in morality, mental development, and social position, have of late years been enabled not only to maintain a more determined and independent attitude before the civil authorities, but also largely to increase their influence in promoting the education of their flocks. The old class of clergy is dying out, and gradually a new and different set of men is coming forward.

The commonest charge that is brought against the Greek Church is its accumulation of superstitions. But the people are beginning to drop the more absurd ceremonies and treat the more preposterous superstitions with indifference. It is true that the church itself is not yet taking the lead in this matter, as how should it? I have often talked on this subject with ecclesiastics of the Eastern faith, and they admit both the absurdity of many of the rites practised and the beliefs inculcated, and also the tendency of the people to neglect these rites and to disbelieve these superstitions; but they say that any action on the part of the church would lead to the serious injury both of itself and the Greek nation; for a general synod would have to be held to deliberate on the necessary reforms; schisms would at once arise, and the Greek Church, and hence the Greek nation, would be disintegrated. However, I believe there are too many sensible men among the Greek clergy for this weak position to be maintained long. The church must reform if it is to remain the church of the Greeks.

At present, however, the priests are afraid to move. They dare not admit the falsity of parts of their doctrine and the absurdity of their practices, for fear of wider consequences. For example, a miraculous fire is supposed to spring from the supposed tomb of Christ on Easter Sunday. The Greek clergy do not actually assert it to be a miracle—at least not to Westerns—but if questioned about it they invariably give an evasive answer; and the priest still continues solemnly to light his taper from the tomb and present it to the congregation saying, “Take, then, the flame from the Eternal Light, and praise Christ who is risen from the dead.”[38] A similar ceremony is observed on a small scale in every Greek church at Easter, when the congregation light their tapers from the altar and the same formula is used.

It is needless to say anything here about the doctrines of the Greek Church: every one knows the insignificant differences which separate it from the Church of Rome. The rites are less generally known; but unfortunately they are too numerous and various to be described here. The general impression produced by a Greek service is gorgeousness. The rites are essentially Oriental, and have been little changed since the early days of the Eastern Empire. The ceremonies are endless; fast and feast days, with their distinctive rites, are always occurring, and though generally disregarded by the upper classes are scrupulously observed by the peasantry, to whom the fasts (on which they work as usual) cause actual physical injury, and the feasts sometimes produce almost equally disastrous effects. Some parts of the service are very beautiful and impressive; but the prayers are generally intoned in a hurried and irreverent manner, which renders them hard to be understood. These things, however, are mending: the lower clergy pay more attention to the ordinary rules of decorum in the conduct of the services, and bishops are now not consecrated unless they are somewhat educated. Formerly the lives of the saints were the topics of sermons, now they are becoming more practical and exhortatory; but political subjects are strictly excluded.

Since the conquest the Greek Church and its clergy in the Ottoman Empire have never been supported by the Government, nor have its ministers ever received any grant either for themselves or the churches and schools under their care. An imperial order confirms the nomination of patriarchs, metropolitans, archbishops, and bishops. The last received from each family in their diocese a portion of the produce of its fields: from a peasant, for example, from half a kilo of corn and hay to a whole kilo, according to his means. This was considered a loyal donation from each household to its spiritual guide. Besides this the archbishops enjoyed special benefits from the celebration of marriages, funerals, and other religious ceremonies to which they were invited. But unfortunately these emoluments eventually became subject to some abuses, which excited murmurs from the community. Another custom was that a bishop should receive from his diocese, at his consecration, a sum sufficient to defray his immediate expenses during the first year. This sum, as well as the offerings in kind, was fixed by the elders of the town in which the metropolitan resided; the local authorities never interfered in these arrangements, except when the bishops demanded their assistance for the recovery of their dues. These usages continued in force until 1860; Feizi Pasha and his two supporters, Ali Pasha and Fouad Pasha, had previously tried every means to induce the Patriarch of Constantinople and his Synod, together with the higher classes of the Greek nation, to accept the funds of their church from the Ottoman Government. The Porte, in order to obtain the end it had in view, showed itself liberal by promising large fees to the higher clergy. But for religious, political, and social reasons, the patriarch and the nation in general rejected the proposal. After the Crimean War a Constitutional Assembly, composed of bishops and lay deputies from all the provinces, was convened by order of the Porte, to deliberate upon the settlement of some administrative affairs connected with the œcumenical throne of Constantinople, the cathedrals, and the bishops. This assembly also regulated, among other things, the revenues of the patriarch and all the archbishops. Each province, proportionately to its extent, its political importance, and its Christian population, was ordered to pay a fixed sum. The annual minimum is 30,000 piastres, and the maximum 90,000 piastres. The patriarch receives thirty per cent on this. The fees fixed by the elders of each province are paid annually by each family: the maximum of this contribution does not exceed twenty piastres each, which, in the aggregate, constitutes the revenues of the bishops and the pay of their subordinates. The extra revenues are regulated in the same manner, the ancient customs concerning their receipt having been abolished. The fees and extra emoluments of the lower clergy of cities, towns, and villages are received after the same fashion. An annual sum is paid by each family to the priest, which in many villages rarely exceeds three or four piastres. The archbishops also receive their stipend from their diocese, and are very seldom obliged to request the assistance of the authorities, who show great repugnance to interfering in the matter.

The social influence of a bishop proceeds from many circumstances. He is considered the spiritual guide of all Orthodox Christians, presiding over the vestry and corporation intrusted with public affairs—such as schools, philanthropical establishments, and churches. He hears and judges, conjointly with a council composed of laymen, all the dissensions which arise between the members of the community. To a certain extent, and when there is no intervention of the local courts, he judges in cases of divorce, and in disputes relative to the payment of dowries, as well as in cases of inheritance; but the local courts have the right of interfering. In these cases the canonical laws are more or less well interpreted according to the pleasure of the Kadi. The bishop judges all that relates to the aforesaid cases in right of a privilege granted to him by the patriarch. He can also decide other matters which belong to the local courts in a friendly way when the disputants agree to it; but when one of them appears dissatisfied he may refer it to the local court, and the sentence or the bishop is nullified by that of this tribunal.

The bishop enjoys the political position of Ἐθνάρχη and permanent member of the Government Council of the province. In addition to his spiritual duties, in the fulfilment of which he has sometimes to call in the assistance of the local authorities, the bishop acts as intermediary between the Christians and the civil government when they ask for his intervention and counsel. But this is not always successful, as the bishop is invested with no regular power, and the local authorities, as well as the central administration, make use of it as they choose and when convenient to them, always acting for the direct interest of their government.

In the Council the influence of the bishop is nil; for his vote, as well as those of all the other Christian members, is lost in the majority gained by the Mussulmans, to which is added the arbitrary influence of the Pasha and the President. Very small benefit is derived from the presence of these Christian representatives at the councils. Liberty of speech, reasonable discussion, and all that might contribute to the proper direction of affairs, are entirely unknown.

The Greek Church is governed by four patriarchs residing at Constantinople, Jerusalem, Antioch, and Alexandria; the last three are equal and independent, but the authority of the first is supreme in the regulation of spiritual affairs, and in his hands rests the power of appointing, dismissing, or punishing any of the prelates. He is elected by a majority of votes of a synod of the metropolitan and neighboring bishops, and is presented to the Sultan for institution, a favor seldom obtained without the payment of several thousand pounds—a long-standing instance of the habitual simony of the Church. The Sultan, however, retains the unmitigated power of deposing, banishing, or executing him. These penalties were frequently inflicted in former times, but the ecclesiastical body within the last half century has gained much in influence and substance.

In spite of the general ignorance and corruption of the higher clergy since the occupation of the country by the Ottomans, their ranks have never lacked men who were as famous for their knowledge as for their virtue and piety. There were many who shunned ecclesiastical dignity in order to pass their lives in instructing the rising generation of their time.

No religious schools then existed: the ecclesiastics received their elementary education in the Ottoman establishments, and were subsequently sent to the colleges of Germany or Italy to complete their studies. It was only about the year 1843 that the first school for the teaching of theology was founded in the island of Chalcis, so that most of the present archbishops in the Empire studied there; but many priests still go to Athens to complete their education. Schools were also established for the lower clergy, but the teaching in them was so deficient that most of the priests were sent to study only in the national schools, where they learn next to nothing.

The higher ranks of the clergy are entirely recruited from the monastic order: hence they are always unmarried, and hence the too often vicious character of their lives. An attempt, partly successful, was made to put some check upon their conduct by the law that no bishop or archbishop can hold more than three sees during his lifetime. If, therefore, he scandalizes the population of two dioceses, he is at least bound to be prudent in the third.

No distinction exists between the priests of the cities and those of the country villages. All are equal; nominated and elected in the same manner; remunerated for their services after the mode already explained. Nearly all of them are married; but those who are not stand on the same footing as those who are. Historically, these parish priests have done some service to the Greek nation: they helped to remind it of its national existence, and by their simple, hard-working lives taught their flocks that the Greeks had still a church that was not wholly given over to cringing to the Turks, that had not altogether bowed the knee to Baal. But that is all that can be said for them. It is impossible to conceive a clergy more ignorant than these parish priests; they are not only absolutely without training in their own profession, knowing nought of theology, but they have not a common elementary education. If, on the one hand, this ignorance puts them more on a sympathetic level with their parishioners, it must not be forgotten that it renders them incapable of raising their flocks one jot above the stage of rustic barbarism in which they found them. There is no ambition (unlike the rest of the Greek race) in these homely priests; for they cannot attain any high position in the Church. Their association seldom benefits the people with much religious instruction, for their studies are restricted to the external formalities of their services. Many of the abuses attributed to them for exactions are exaggerated: their condition of poverty and modest way of living, in no way superior to the common people, is the best proof of this fact. They are accused of bargaining for the price of performing certain rites, but any abuse of the kind can be prevented by consulting the established table of fees for all such matters; so that this infringement cannot be carried on to any great extent.

There is no manner of doubt that the only hope for the Orthodox Church lies in its separation from Moslem government. So long as its high dignitaries have to purchase their appointments from Turkish ministers and Sultans, so long will it retain its character for truckling and corruption, so long will it lack the one thing needful in a church—moral force. Not less are the lower clergy affected by this unhappy connection between church and state. The government puts every obstacle in the way of the establishment of schools for priests: it is aware that its influence over the mass of the clergy can last only so long as that clergy is ignorant and knows not the energy for freedom which education must bring. Let the Church be severed from the control of the Porte, let it be assured of the integrity of the Greek nation, and the end of the necessity for conciliating the Turks, and then we may hope for reforms—for the regeneration of the priesthood and the destruction of the web of deadly superstition which it has so long found profitable to weave round the hearts of the people.

Any account, however brief, of the Greek church would be very incomplete without some notice of the monasteries which the traveller sees scattered over the country in the most beautiful and commanding positions, perched on the summit of precipitous rocks, on the steep slopes of hills, or nestled in the shady seclusion of the glens. The most renowned are the twenty monasteries of Mount Athos, called Ἅγιος Ὄρος, or Monte Santo. The population of this peninsula is quite unique of its kind. The community of monks is divided into five classes. The first comprises those who are as it were independent, and are subjected to no severe rules. It is impossible for a man without fortune to live in these monasteries, because the common fund provides only the rations of bread, wine, oil, etc. Every other outlay in the way of dress or the choice of better food is at his own expense. Each prepares his meals in his cell and need not fast unless he chooses, but cannot indulge in meat, as its use is strictly prohibited.

Eight monasteries are called independent (Idiorrhythmic), on account of the manner in which their occupants live. The greatest of these and the first founded is Μεγίστη Λαὺρα, or Great Lavra: and the others are Xeropotamu, Docheiareiu, Pantokratoros, Stavroniketa, Philotheu, Iveron, and Vatopedi. But these monasteries occasionally change their régime from the stricter to the laxer discipline, or again from the Idiorrhythmic to the Cenobite.

The second category comprises the monasteries in which the recluses live in common. This life, which is one of great austerity, was founded by the organizers of the religious orders of the Orthodox Church, and represents, as nearly as possible, the rule of the ascetics of ancient times. Community of goods is the regulation in these convents: all is equal, frugal, and simple. There is but one treasury, one uniform, one table, one class of food, and the discipline is very rigid. Whoever wishes to enter one of these monastic establishments must give all that he possesses in the way of money or raiment to the Father Superior or chief elected by the members of the institution. The neophyte is submitted to a year’s noviciate; and if, during this time, he can bear the life, he is admitted into the order and consecrated a monk. If, on the contrary, the rigid and austere life disheartens him, he is allowed to retire. Each monk possesses a camp-bed in his cell, besides a jug of water and his clothing; but he is strictly forbidden, under pain of severe ecclesiastical punishment, to have money or any kind of food, or even the utensils necessary for making coffee.

Should a monk find some object on his path, he is obliged to deliver it to the Father Superior, to whom he ought to carry all his sufferings, physical and moral, in order to receive consolation and relief. Every monk belonging to this order must, without shrinking, execute the commands of the Father Superior concerning the exterior and interior affairs of the monastery. One third of the night is consecrated to prayer in the principal church, where all the brotherhood are expected to attend, with the exception of the sick and infirm. The ritual of prayers is the same as in all the monasteries of Mount Athos, except those of the communal ascetics. Vigils are very frequent, the prayers commencing at sunset and continuing till sunrise.

The following may be mentioned as belonging to this class: St. Paul, St. Dionysius, St. Gregory, St. Simopetra, and St. Panteleemon, called the Russian monasteries on account of their being principally inhabited by Russian and Greek monks. Xenophu, Konstamonitu, and Zographu, are inhabited by Bulgarian monks, and Chilandari by Bulgarians and Servians. The other monasteries are Sphigmenu, Karakallu, and Kutlumusi.

The third category is composed of monks who live in solitude. Their rules resemble those already described, but they may be considered to lead a life of still greater austerity. Their groups of small houses, which contain two or three little rooms and a chapel, are called sketés (σκητή); they are surrounded by gardens of about an acre in extent. In the midst of these groups of, buildings is a church called Κυριακόν, where mass is celebrated on Sundays and feast-days, at which service all the monks are expected to be present; on other days they perform their devotions in their own chapels. In each of these habitations two or three monks lead a very frugal life; their food consists of fresh or dry vegetables, which can only be prepared with oil on Saturday and Sunday, when they are allowed to eat fish, but very seldom eggs or cheese. The inhabitants of the σκητή support themselves entirely by their manual labor; each monk is required to follow some trade by which he can earn sufficient for his food and clothing. This consists mostly in the manufacture of cowls, stockings, and other articles of dress, which are sold in the neighborhood; with the addition of carvings in wood in the shape of crosses, spoons, etc., with which a small commerce is carried on with the pilgrims that visit the peninsula. Each σκητή ought to go to Karias once a year, where a fair is held, to sell his wares, and with the proceeds buy his supply of food. There are a great many monks who, with the exception of this annual journey, go nowhere, and possess not the remotest idea of what is passing in the world outside the restricted limits of their mountain. On the whole, their life is a time of continual toil in order to procure what is strictly necessary for their support, and of endless prayer for the eternal welfare of their souls.

The fourth category comprises the recluses known as Κελλιώται. Their pretty houses are sometimes sufficiently spacious and kept in good order. Each contains from four to five rooms and a chapel, besides possessing large extents of garden planted with vines, and olive and nut trees. These dwellings are tenanted by five or six recluses, and belong to convents that sell them to the monks. But the right of possession is not complete, as the purchasers are subjected to the payment of a small rent, and are not allowed to transfer their purchase to other persons without the consent of the monastery. The buyer, being the chief of those who live with him, considers them his servants or subordinates, and they can acquire no privileges without long years of service. The Superior may inscribe the names of two other persons on the title-deeds, who succeed according to their order in the hierarchy. Such property is never made over to persons of different religions, the law on this point being very strict. A new regulation is, that no Greek monastery should be granted to foreigners, such as Russians, Bulgarians, Servians, or Wallachians; as they, being richer than the Greeks, might easily make themselves masters of the whole.

The recluses live on the produce of their lands and seldom by the labor of their hands. Many among them have amassed a little fortune by the sale of their oil, wine, and nuts. Their mode of living and their food and clothing are the same as in the other monasteries; their ritual is also similar, with the exception that their devotions are performed with more brevity.

Take away their solitary life and their continual prayers, and they then might be considered as industrial companies belonging to the world.

The fifth category comprises the anchorites, whose rules are the most sublime and severe. These holy men do not work, but pass their time in prayer, the hard earth serves for their bed, and a stone for their pillow; their raiment consists only of a few rags.

Never quitting their grottoes, they pass their days and nights in prayer; their food is always dry bread, with fresh water once a week. If the abode of the anchorite be situated in an inaccessible spot, he lets down a basket, into which the passers-by throw the bread which is his sole nourishment. Others have friends in some distant monastery, who alone know the secret of their retreat and bring them provisions. These solitary beings shun the sight and sound of man, their life having for its sole object the mortification of the flesh, meditation, and prayer. The population of Mount Athos is estimated at between six and seven thousand souls, two-thirds of whom are Greeks from different parts of the Ottoman empire, and the other third Russians, Bulgarians, and Servians. Their government is a representative assembly in which deputies from the twenty monasteries take part, except the σκητή and the κελλιώται, who are dependants of the others. The twenty monasteries are divided into four parts, which are again subdivided into five. Each year a representative from each division is called upon to take part in the government of the peninsula. Their duties consist principally in superintending the police and the administration of justice. These four governors are called nazarides, a Turkish word which signifies inspectors.

Twice a year regularly, and each time a serious case occurs, a kind of parliament is called, consisting of the twenty deputies, who, with the four nazarides, occupy themselves with current affairs and common wants. Each monastery acts independently of the others in the administration of its affairs. The chief inspector, judge, and spiritual chief, who decides all disputes that arise in the monasteries is the Patriarch of Constantinople. The authority of the Turkish government is represented by a Kaimakam, who acts as intermediary between the parliament and the Porte; he fulfils rather the duties of a superintendent than that of a governor. There is also a custom-house officer to watch over the importations and exportations of “The Holy Mountain.”

Some of the monasteries contain fine libraries and rich church ornaments, which are the only wealth they possess. Each convent is under the protection of a patron saint, who is generally represented by some λείψανα, or relics. The anniversaries of these patron saints are held in great veneration by the Greeks, crowds resorting to the convents to celebrate them. Caravans may be seen wending their way along the mountain paths leading to the convent, some mounted on horses or mules, some on foot, while dozens of small heads may be seen peeping above the brims of large panniers carried by horses. On entering the church attached to the edifice the pilgrims light tapers, which they deposit before the shrine of the tutelar saint, cross themselves repeatedly, and then join the rest of the company in dedicating the evening to feasting and merry-making. These gatherings, though blamable perhaps as being occasioned by superstitious rites, are otherwise harmless, and even beneficial to the masses; to the townspeople in the break in their sedentary habits, and to the country-people in introducing among them more enlightened and liberal ideas, and in facilitating social intercourse between them in these Arcadian gatherings under the shade of spreading plane-trees, and stimulated by the circulation of the wine-cup. I have often visited these Panaghias and experienced real pleasure in witnessing the happy gambols of the children and the gay dances and songs executed by the young people, and in listening to the conversation or those of more mature years. At meal times all the assembled company unite in an immense picnic, feasting to their hearts’ content on the good fare with which they come provided, and to the special profit of the numerous hawkers of “scimitiers,” “petas,” parched peas, popped corn, stale sugar-plums, gum mastic, fruits, flowers, little looking-glasses, rouge, etc.; the last two articles for the benefit of the young beauties, who may be found adding to their charms hidden behind the trunk of a tree. The merriment is kept up to a late hour, and at dawn the slumberers are awakened by the sound of the monastery bell calling them to mass. This is generally read by the Egumenos, or Prior, except when the bishop of the diocese is invited to celebrate it, in which case the ceremony is naturally more imposing and the expenses incurred by the community increased to a slight extent. Money, however, is not extorted from the worshippers, each individual giving to the monastery according to his means and his feelings of devotion. Kind and open hospitality is afforded to all by the good monks, whose retired and simple mode of life receives no variety but from these gatherings.

Women and animals of the feminine gender are not allowed to enter the precincts of the “Holy Mountain.” This prohibition seems to be in some way connected with the curiosity of Lot’s wife, whose punishment is expected to befall the adventurous daughter of Eve who should thus transgress. This superstition has, however, lost much of its force since Lady Stratford’s visit to the monasteries during the Crimean War, when some of the monks tremblingly watched for the transformation, till they had the satisfaction of seeing her Ladyship quit the dangerous precincts in the full possession of the graces that characterized her.

It is difficult to say whether the adoption of the Orthodox Creed by the Bulgarians has been a blessing or a curse to them; for the friendly union that sprang up from the assimilation of faith between the two rival nations was not of long duration. Their amicable relations were often disturbed by jealousies, in the settlement of which Christianity was often used as a cloak to cover many ugly sins on both sides, and its true spirit was seldom allowed free scope for its sublime mission of peace, light, and charity. Religion was the subject that occupied, after the Crimean War, the minds of the small enlightened class of the modern Bulgarians, spread over all parts of Bulgaria, but existing in greater numbers in the eyalet of Philippopolis, where the honest, wealthy, and educated men who had in foreign lands imbibed the progressive ideas of the day, raised their voices against the then subjected condition of their church to that of Constantinople, and put forward a just claim for its separation or independence. As already mentioned, the religious ties existing between the Greeks and Bulgarians do not appear at any time to have formed a bond of union between the two nations, or promoted social or friendly feelings among them. After the Turkish conquest, Bulgarians and Greeks, crushed by the same blow, ceased their animosity; but bore in mind that one was to serve in promoting Panslavistic interests, and the other those of Panhellenism. The proximity of these two distinct elements, and the mixture of the one people with the other by their geographical position, render the two extremely diffident of each other and jealously careful of their own interests, although direct and open action on either side has not been prominent.

The Bulgarians, during the 13th century, had separated themselves from the Church of Constantinople. This was a serious measure which the mother church naturally resented and used every means in her power to abolish. In this she finally succeeded in 1767, when the Bulgarian Church was once more placed under the immediate spiritual jurisdiction of the See of Constantinople. The Bulgarian bishops were dismissed and their dioceses transferred to Greeks, the monasteries seized and their revenues applied to the Greek Church. This was doubtless an unjust blow which the nation never forgot, nor did they cease to reproach the Greeks with the injury done to them. The latter had, no doubt, a double interest in the act, and the first and less worthy was the material profit the clergy and Greek communities obtained by the appropriation of the Bulgarian Church revenues. The second was a strong political motive; for the right of possessing an independent Bulgarian Church and cultivating the Bulgarian language meant nothing less than raising and developing the future organ of Panslavism in districts the Greeks consider they have a hereditary right to; their national interests were, in fact, at stake. The men to whom was intrusted the duty of protecting these interests were unscrupulous as to the means they used in the fulfilment of their task, and a perpetual struggle ensued, resulting in persecution and other crimes besides the unjust dealing with which the Bulgarians charge their rivals. Both parties, from their own point of view, are right; and there is nothing for them but to keep up the conflict till some decisive victory, or perhaps arbitration, settles the dispute.

The Bulgarian Church question re-commenced in 1858 and lasted until 1872, during which time the bitter strife was renewed between the two nations, inducing the Bulgarians to demand from the Porte the fulfilment of the promises made in decreed reforms to guarantee liberty of religious worship and the church reforms indicated in the Hatti-scherif of Gulhané.

These demands were just and reasonable, and at first limited to the request that the Porte would grant permission that Bulgarians, or at least men capable of speaking their language, should alone be appointed bishops; that the service in their churches, instead of being performed in the ancient Greek, a tongue unknown to the Bulgarians, should be performed in the native language, and other similar demands, which the Greek patriarch very unwisely refused to listen to. Previously to this, in 1851, the Porte had obliged the patriarch to consecrate a Bulgarian bishop.

In a church which the Bulgarians had erected by permission of the Porte at Constantinople, in 1860, during the celebration of Easter, the Bulgarian bishop, at the request of the congregation, omitted from the customary prayer the name of the patriarch. This was the first decisive step towards the accomplishment of the schism that took place subsequently. The example set by this bishop was followed in many parts of Bulgaria; occasionally the name of the Sultan was substituted for that of the patriarch. The excitement this movement caused in Bulgaria was intense, and acted upon the dormant minds of the people with a force that pushed them at least ten years in advance of what they had been, and opened their eyes to things they had failed previously to observe.

The Porte, alarmed by this sudden effervescence of public feeling in Bulgaria, despatched the Grand Vizir on a tour in that country to study the feeling of the people. At his approach the inhabitants of every town flocked to his presence and brought their grievances under his notice. The Vizir’s action was as just and impartial as circumstances would allow; he listened to the grievances of the people, righted many of their wrongs, imprisoned some officials and dismissed others; but, notwithstanding, the Bulgarians failed to obtain on this occasion any great material amelioration either of their condition or with regard to the Church question.

At this stage all true Bulgarians, including those of the rural districts, were fully aroused; and, reminded by their respective chieftains, or heads of communities, of the importance of the pending question, and the necessity of united action, they determined to fight the battle with the patriarch and overcome the opposition they continued to meet with from that quarter. Help of any description was desirable for them, and even foreign agency was prudently courted. The Porte was given to understand that it possessed no subjects more faithful and devoted than the Bulgarians, and that the rights they demanded could be only obtained from it, and if their Sultan decided in their favor he would secure their eternal gratitude and devotion. Rome began to take an interest in the matter, and the Government of Napoleon III., stimulated by the Uniate Propaganda, headed by some Polish dignitaries established in Paris, endeavored to secure a hold upon the people by means of the priests and agents sent into Bulgaria, and people were made to believe that the whole of Bulgaria was ready to adopt Roman Catholicism and place itself under the protection of France. (See the next chapter.)

Russia, alarmed by these rumors, also began to show signs of active interest in the matter, and by her promises of assistance, her efforts to counteract the Uniate movement, and the pressure she finally began to enforce upon the Porte in favor of the Bulgarian church movement, ended in gaining to her side a small but influential body of Bulgarians in the Danubian districts. There was a critical moment when the Bulgarians, thinking all was lost for them, turned their hopes and even appealed to England for help, promising that if this were granted they would become Protestants. The missionaries of the Evangelical and other Protestant societies were led to believe in the possibility of such a conversion, and became doubly zealous in their efforts to enlighten the people. In the midst of this conflicting state of affairs, when each party tried to enforce its own views and derive the most profit, the church of Constantinople remained inflexible, the Porte took to compromising, and the Bulgarians, doggedly and steadily working on, by degrees became more venturesome in their action, more pressing in their demands, and more independent in their proceedings. Greek bishops were ejected from their dioceses in Bulgaria and driven away by the people. In Nish and other places monasteries were seized, and their incomes reappropriated by the Bulgarian communities. Personal encounters and struggles of a strangely unchristian nature were frequent between the contending parties, sometimes taking place even within the precincts of the churches. The struggle for independence continued, in spite of the anathemas hurled against the Bulgarians by the Patriarchate, and was encouraged by the desertion of two Bishops to their side. The exile of these by the Porte, at the instigation of the Patriarch, and a variety of other incidents ensued, until in 1868 Fouad and Ali Pashas took up the Bulgarian cause, and the exiled Bishops were recalled (February 28th, 1870).

Through the instrumentality of the latter a Firman was issued constituting a Bulgarian Exarch, and permission was given to the Bulgarians to elect their spiritual chief, the election to be confirmed by a Berat of the Sultan.

Ali Pasha’s death, however, in 1871, caused new difficulties, and the enforcement of this measure was, under different pretexts, delayed during the ministry of his successor, Mahmoud Pasha, and ultimately only fulfilled in consequence of the proportions the question had assumed, and the active interest taken in it by Russia as shown in the policy of General Ignatieff. This policy was not approved of by the majority of thinking Bulgarians, who, with good reason, dreaded the consequences of Russian influence based on the solid assistance it had rendered to the Bulgarian church. Russia from all times has made use of the churches and monasteries in Bulgaria, largely endowing them with sacerdotal gifts, in order to consolidate her influence and gain the faith and confidence of the people.

All now is confusion, darkness, and uncertainty in Bulgaria. Their churches, inaugurated with so much hope and confidence, have been polluted with every crime and stained with the blood of innumerable victims. Centuries must pass before the wrongs and misfortunes of late years can be forgotten by this unhappy people.

There is yet another Christian Church in Turkey which must have a place in this chapter. St. Gregory the Illuminator, the patron saint of Armenia, is looked upon as the effective bearer of that heavenly light that was to extinguish the beacons of the fire-worshippers and found the Armenian Church. In the beginning of the fourth century of our era this saint preached in court of Tiridates, who, evidently little disposed at the time to accept the new faith, vented his ill-humor against it by ordering the martyrdom of its preacher. The most agonizing tortures, say the Armenian annals, inflicted upon St. Gregory failed in the desired effect. Finally, after having been made to walk on pointed nails, and having melted lead poured down his throat, he was cast into a cistern, among snakes and scorpions, where he lived fourteen years, daily fed by an angel, who brought him bread and water. At the end of this period he was allowed to issue from his dismal abode, and was called upon to baptize the penitent king and his nobles, converted through the instrumentality of the king’s sister, to whom the Christian religion was revealed in a vision. Such is the legendary origin of Christianity in Armenia. The new faith enforced by royalty was soon spread through the country. St. Gregory was appointed Patriarch of Armenia, and after creating a number of churches, bishoprics, and convents, and regulating the canons of each, he retired into the solitude of a hermitage, where he was put to death by order of the king’s son. It was the beginning of a long course of misfortunes. There is something grand in the sacrifice that the ignorant and stout-hearted Asiatics made in the cause of religion. Nowhere was persecution so long or so cruel, martyrdoms so terrible, self-denial so complete as among the people of the land where the human race is fabled to have had its origin.

St. Gregory was succeeded in the Patriarchal chair by his son Aristogus, who, having taken part in the Council of Nice in 335 A.D., brought back with him some of its decrees, and caused the first schism in the church. The terrible religious dissensions that raged for so many centuries made themselves as deeply felt in Armenia as elsewhere. Every dogma of Christianity was in turn examined, adopted, or rejected, until the Monophysitic views, gaining the majority of the people, caused the schism that finally separated the Armenian from the primitive church.

The two parties, though differing but slightly from each other, cease not, even to the present day, their antagonism. The schismatics affirm the absorption of the human nature of Christ into the Divine—the procession of the Holy Ghost from the Father alone—redemption from original sin by the sacrifice of Christ, redemption from actual sin by auricular confession and penance. They adhere to the seven sacraments, perform baptism by trine immersion, believe in the mediation of saints, the adoration of pictures, and transubstantiation, and administer the sacrament in both kinds to laymen; they deny purgatorial penance and yet invoke the prayers of the pious for the benefit of the souls of the departed.

The Armenian Church differs from the Latin in seven points. Its doctrine is contained in the following formula, which the candidates for priestly office are obliged to profess before ordination: “We believe in Jesus Christ, one person and a double nature, and in conformity with the Holy Fathers we reject and detest the Council of Chalcedon, the letter of St. Leon to Flavian; we say anathema to every sect that denies the two natures.”

In Church polity, after long quarrels and bickerings between three patriarchs, each following his own interest, rivalries, and rites, the supremacy has at last been vested in one who is called Catholicos, chosen from among the Armenian archbishops and appointed by the Emperor of Russia. The seat of the Patriarchate is the famous convent of Echmiadzin at Erivan, in Russian territory. This convent contains a magnificent library, is extremely wealthy, and exercises supreme power over the others in spiritual matters. It alone has the right to ordain archbishops to the forty-two archbishoprics under its control, and to settle points of dogma. Among the pretended relics it possesses are the dead hand of St. Gregory, used for consecrating his successors in the Patriarchate, and the lance with which Christ was pierced. This convent of Echmiadzin is to the Armenians what Mount Athos has been to the Greeks. In both, Russia has spared neither expense nor effort to establish her influence and spread it by means of these channels all over the Christian populations of the East. Her too stirring policy at Mount Athos, as shown by the publication of “Les Responsabilités,” and her attempt to enforce upon the Catholicos of Echmiadzin the decree for the suppression of the Armenian language in the churches and schools, and replacing it by Russian, had an equally unfortunate result.

The efforts of the Russian Government to improve the condition of this country are said to have met with a certain amount of success; commerce and industry, encouraged by the creation of roads and other facilities, have been the principal temptations held out to emigrants from Turkish territory. Of all the European powers Russia alone could help to civilize and improve the degraded condition of the Christians of those distant regions. Her influence would have been stronger and more beneficial to them if her policy had been a more straightforward and liberal one, and more in accordance with the national rights of the people whose good-will and confidence she will fail to secure so long as she follows the old system of trying to Russianize them by the suppression of their privileges.

The Armenian churches are not unlike those of the Greeks; they are similar in decoration—pictures of Christ, the Virgin, and the saints being the principal ornaments of their altars. These pictures are slightly superior to the expressionless ones used by the Greeks. The pious often decorate parts of these with a silver or gold coating on the hands, or as an aureole, and sometimes over the whole body. The Armenians have faith in the efficacy of prayers addressed to these images, as well as in the laying of hands on the sick or distressed, who are often taken to the church and left through the night before the altar of some special saint. The Armenian patriarchs and bishops enjoy the same rights and privileges as the Greeks, and administer justice to their respective communities on the same conditions.

Like the Greek, the Armenian clergy are of two orders, secular and monastic; the former are allowed to marry, but never occupy a high position in the church. They are usually very poor, even poorer and more retired than the Greek parish priests, living like the lower orders of the people, who look upon them as their friends. Although ignorant, they are much respected for the morality of their lives, but knowing nothing more than the routine of their office they are unable to give any religious instruction to their parishioners beyond that contained in the books of prayer used in the church; a passage from the lives or writings of the saints is read in place of a sermon.

This drawback to the propagation of more practical religion is being by degrees removed since the introduction of excellent religious books published by the Mechitarist College at Venice, and by the American Missionary societies. The latter especially have done much to stimulate the dormant spirit of inquiry; the large circulation of Bibles, which by their low price are brought within the reach of all, encourages the propensity shown by the Armenians to admit Protestant ideas, which are being daily more extensively spread among the community. “In Central Turkey alone there are now no less than twenty-six organized churches, with some 2500 members, and audiences amounting in the aggregate to 5000 or 6000 steady attendants.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE AND MISSIONARY WORK.

Turkish Tolerance—High Disdain for Christians—American Mission Work—Roman Catholic Missionaries—Catholic Establishments—The Uniates—United Armenians—Mechitar—The Two Parties—Persecutions—European Interference—The Hassounists—The Hope for Armenia.

From the time of the Ottoman conquest spiritual liberty has been allowed to all creeds in Turkey, and the external observances and ceremonies of religion have, in most places, been permitted by the Moslems, though in some even funeral ceremonies were often molested, and the use of church bells was forbidden. Certain rights and privileges were granted to each church, to which the Christians clung with great tenacity—as to a sacred banner, round which they would one day rally and march to freedom.

By the concessions granted to the vanquished by their conquerors, they were allowed to retain those churches that had escaped destruction or were not converted into mosques, and permitted to worship according to the dictates of their own consciences so long as the sound of their bell calling the infidels to prayer did not offend the ear of the faithful. The internal administration was not interfered with; each congregation was free to choose its own clergy, ornament the interior of its church as it saw fit, perform its pilgrimages and bury its dead, without interference from the authorities. These privileges, though looked upon as sacred by the poor, could not compensate in the sight of the rich and once powerful for social and material losses; thus many Christians renounced their faith and adopted that of their masters.

Time and succeeding events have softened down some of the outstanding wrongs; fanatical outbreaks and religious persecutions have become of less frequent occurrence; and the various Hattis proclaiming freedom of worship and religious equality to all Ottoman subjects before the law, are guarantees that no arbitrary action on the part of the government can interfere with the religious privileges of the Christians, or deprive them of their rights. Though this guarantee is a proof of the sincerity of the Porte in its efforts to give satisfaction to its Christian subjects, it cannot remove the evil or lessen its consequences, which remain in all their force of danger and uncertainty. Every movement of discontent in Turkey receives a strong impulse from that religious zeal which stimulates the Mohammedan to acts of fanatical barbarity, and the Christian to a superstitious belief in miraculous powers that will protect him in the hour of danger. Thus, in times of disturbance the timorous bulk of the population of a town or village will rush to the church for safety, there pouring out mingled prayers and tears to God and all the saints that the threatened danger may be averted. Rarely, it would seem, are such prayers heard, for the first place to which the excited Mussulman rushes is the church, and thither the brigand chief will lead his band, and perpetrate acts of the most revolting barbarity. The armed peasant, the undisciplined soldier, or the cruel and licentious Bashi-Bazouk will all attack the sacred edifice, break it open, and destroy or pollute all that falls into their hands. These are the ever-recurring evils that no Imperial law will be able to prevent, no measures eradicate, so long as the two rival creeds continue to exist face to face, and be used as the principal motives in the struggle, past and present, for supremacy on one side, freedom and independence on the other. The Mussulmans, under pressure, will grant every concession demanded of them, and to a great extent carry them out; but it would be utterly erroneous to suppose for a moment that under any pressure or in any degree of civilization, the Turk would be able to disabuse himself of the deeply-rooted disdain the most liberal-minded of his race feels for strangers to his creed and nation.

The experiences of all thoroughly acquainted with the character of the Ottoman tallies with mine on this point. I have seen the disdain felt by the Mohammedan towards the Christian portrayed on the faces of the most liberal, virtuous, and well-disposed, as well as on those of the most bigoted. A Christian, be he European or Asiatic, is an infidel in the Moslem’s sight. He will receive him graciously, converse with him in the most amicable manner, and at the same time mumble prayers for pardon for his sin in holding communication with an unbeliever.

The religious freedom enjoyed by the members of the Protestant and Roman Catholic churches is far more extensive than that enjoyed by the Eastern. Both, upheld by the powerful support of European powers, enjoy a liberty of action and license of speech rarely found in other countries. Both are aliens and owe their origin to the proselytizing efforts of the missionaries. The Church of Rome, being the older and more enterprising, naturally commands a much vaster field than the Protestant; she is supported by France and other Roman Catholic countries, who jealously watch over her rights and privileges. The Protestants are protected by England and America; their missionaries entered Turkey at a later date and gradually established themselves over the country. At first the extremely reserved attitude of the missionaries, their conscientious method of making converts, and the extreme severity of their regulations, gave them but a poor chance of success. Gradually, however, the esteem and regard of the people for them increased; stringent opposition, promoted by sectarian dissensions, died out, and mission stations, with numerous churches, some of considerable importance and promise, were established, especially in Armenia. The principal cause of the encouragement they met with was the wise policy, lately adopted, of promoting missionary work by education.

The extensive body of Protestant missionaries now found in Turkey is almost entirely American. The meetings of the Board are held in Constantinople; it controls the administration of the different missions and directs the large American College at Bebek—the best foreign institute for education in the country.

When a community of Protestant converts numbers a few families it is given a church and school, and one of the principal men is elected as chief of the society. This person is presented officially to the authorities by one of the consuls of the protecting powers—generally the English; he is recognized as chief of his community, obtains a seat in the local court, and is intrusted with all the interests of his co-religionists. In difficult or complicated cases the missionaries themselves share the responsibilities of this chief, and through consular or ambassadorial agency generally settle all matters calling for redress and justice in a satisfactory manner.

The few English missionaries who are established in Turkey are intrusted with the fruitless task of endeavoring to convert the Jews.

The Roman Catholic missionaries, from the date of the separation of the Eastern and Western Churches, have ever been actively and diligently employed in making converts. Thus a great portion of the population of Syria, yielding to their influence, has become Roman Catholic, as have the Bosnians, a portion of the Albanians, some of the Greeks inhabiting the islands, the Armenians of Constantinople, and of later years a small portion of the Bulgarians. The action of the missionaries of late years has not, however, been so much directed towards making new converts as it has to consolidating and strengthening the tie binding the few scattered communities to the mother-church. This religious body recruits itself chiefly from France and Italy, and consists of priests, monks, and Sisters of Charity, belonging chiefly to the orders of St. Benois, the Jesuits, Lazarists, and St. Vincent de Paul. Their extensive establishments are situated in the Frank quarters of the towns, and consist of well-built and spacious churches, monasteries, schools, orphan asylums, and foundling hospitals. Pera and Galata contain a goodly number of these establishments, as do the principal towns of European and Asiatic Turkey. These missions are evidently well furnished with funds, for their establishments have everywhere a prosperous appearance, and are provided with every requisite for the purposes for which they are intended. The religious instruction given in them is, however, extremely illiberal, bigoted, and imparted on Jesuitical principles. Exclusiveness and intolerance towards other creeds are openly prescribed. “Point de salut hors de l’Eglise” is their doctrine. Considerable laxity is allowed in moral points so long as they do not interfere with the external duties of the community to the church. Should an individual belonging to another creed die among the community, the rite of burial will be refused to him by the Roman Catholic priests, but those of the Orthodox Church will often in that case consent to perform it. Even the marriage ceremony, unless performed in their churches, is considered by the more bigoted portion of the Roman Catholic clergy as not binding. This strange statement was made in my presence before a large gathering of persons belonging to different creeds, by the superior of a Lazarist establishment at A⸺. It was on the occasion of the marriage of two members of the Latin community of that town, when the service was terminated by the following short address to the married couple: “Twice happy are you to belong to the Holy Church of Rome and to be united in the sacred ties of matrimony within her bosom: for in the same manner as there is no hope after life for those who do not belong to her, so marriage is not binding out of her, but every woman who so gives herself is not a legal wife but a concubine!” In many cases the sacrament is refused to ladies united in marriage to persons belonging to other creeds.

The secular teaching given in the schools of these missions is limited, and, based on the same principles as the religion, is illiberal and narrow-minded. Much time is consecrated by the pupils to religious recitations, prayers, and penances of no possible profit to the children. Thus from an early age, imbued with narrow ideas and made to lose sight of the spirit of Christianity, the Roman Catholic communities, be they of European, Greek, or Armenian nationality, are the most bigoted, intolerant, and exclusive of all the Christian communities of the East.

The missionaries belonging to this Church are unsurpassed in the admirable manner in which their charitable establishments are arranged. The homes and asylums for the poor and orphan children are for the girls under the control of the Sisters of Charity, and for the boys under that of the priests and monks. These are well kept, and very orderly, the food is good and abundant, and the dress of the children solid and befitting their condition. Hospitals are attached to each establishment, where the sick are well cared for and destitute Europeans admitted irrespective of creed. The good Sisters of Charity take upon themselves the duty of watching over the patients night and day. A dispensary is included in each mission station, where medicines and medical advice are given gratuitously. The children reared in these establishments are placed in situations on leaving them; but I regret to be obliged to say that comparatively few of either sex are known to turn out honest and respectable.

The retired lives led by these active servants of Rome do not prevent their being very intimately connected with their respective communities or using their all-powerful influence for good or for evil in all family concerns. They are hardy, active, and most persevering; their personal wants are small and their mode of living modest and unassuming. But in spite of this they are worldly-wise, crafty, and unscrupulous as to the means they use in obtaining their ends. Their mode of action is based upon the principle that the end justifies the means; few, therefore, are the scruples that will arrest their action or the dangers and difficulties that will damp their courage or check their ardor in their work.

All the internal regulations and arrangements of the Catholic community are made without the Porte troubling itself much about them—indeed, to do the Turk justice, in his high contempt for things Christian, he keeps as much as possible out of the religious dissensions of his subjects, and when by chance he does appear on the scene of action, by turns persecutor, protector, or peacemaker, he is generally prompted in the matter by one of the interested parties. An amusing incident witnessed by one of my friends at Jerusalem well illustrates this fact. This gentleman accompanied one of the peacemaking governors-general to the Holy City at the time the quarrel of the possession of the little door leading to the Sepulchre was at its highest. All the interested parties loaded the Pasha with acts of politeness and civility, which he received with great urbanity; but when the great question was delicately broached in the course of conversation, he at once turned round and exclaimed, Turkish fashion, “Oh, my soul! I pray do not open that door to me!”

There is little to be said about the Uniates, or Bulgarian Catholic converts in Turkey. The movement in its commencement, effects, and results may be compared to Midhat Pasha’s Constitution—a farce and imposition from beginning to end. Like the Constitution, the Uniate movement broke out in the midst of a hot fever of excitement and discontent; the first was created as a palliative for Turkish misrule, the second emanated from the mismanagement of a church. The disputes between the Greeks and Bulgarians on the church question was at its height when a certain number of Bulgarians, carried away by the hope of ameliorating the actual condition of things and ultimately obtaining their end, viz., the emancipation of the Bulgarian Church from the Greek, accepted the nominal supremacy of the Romish Church, and by a fictitious conversion became attached to it under the denomination of Uniates. Their number, at first small, would probably have remained so had it not been that some effective arguments and causes gave it a momentary impetus, bringing it under public notice. The sensational part of the incident was due to the exaggerated accounts given by the agents of the Propaganda and other societies of the future triumphs of Rome in this new field of action, and to the political advantage which the government of Napoleon III. tried to derive from it. Monsieur Bouré, the ambassador at that time in Turkey, greatly favored the movement, while some of the consular agents, overstepping their instructions, held out to the Bulgarian people the open support and protection of the French Government in favor of the anticipated converts: “C’est ici,” said one of those zealous agents, “C’est ici au consulat de France que la nation Bulgare doit dorénavant tourner son regard, porter ses plaintes et demander protection!”

The most telling argument with the Bulgarian peasant to abjure his faith was not the future benefit his soul would derive from the change nor the value of French influence and protection, but simply the prospect of freeing himself from all future Church impositions, and having his children educated at the schools of the Propaganda free of cost. These conditions were very enticing, and some thousands, yielding to the further influence of a few of their superiors who had declared themselves Uniates, blindly followed these as sheep following their shepherd in search of food. They knew nothing of the dogmatic side of the question, and cared not to inquire. The name of the Pope was substituted for that of the Patriarch of Constantinople; the ignorant Greek or Bulgarian priests were superseded by Polish preachers well versed in the Bulgarian tongue, whose sermons were composed with a view to impressing the people with a sense of the material rather than the spiritual benefits to be derived from their apostasy. The proselytizing centres were Adrianople, Monastir, and Salonika, where large establishments belonging to the Roman Catholic Societies undertook the work of conversion in a very zealous manner, and established branches in places of smaller importance in order to give more weight to the affair and increase the confidence of the Bulgarians in its stability. A Bulgarian monk, the best that could be got, was pounced upon by the Fathers and sent to Rome to be consecrated primate of the Uniates. This individual, unprepossessing in appearance and utterly ignorant and stupid, remained at Rome in order to receive the homage due to him as the future primate of the Uniates, and then returned to Bulgaria, where every effort was made by the agents of the Propaganda to give importance to the event and establish the authority of the new primate. The poor Bulgarian Uniates, closely watched and pressed on both sides by the Greeks and the Bulgarians, found it very hard to stand their ground. They began to show signs of laxity of zeal, and gradually dropped out of the newly-formed flock. This reaction took a very decided turn after the formation of the Bulgarian national church, when the converts en bloc returned to it, leaving a few of the faithful to occupy the benches of the deserted churches, and some orphans and beggars to people the schools attached to them.

Thus began and ended an affair which was nothing but a joke to those who were on the spot and behind the scenes; while the Catholic world, judging from all the wild tales of the press on the subject, seemed to lose their reason over it to the extent of exciting the curiosity of some governments and greatly alarming others, until the thing died out, to make room for more important matters.

However successful the work of conversion may be in the East when it is carried on (as with the Romish Church) with the object of entirely denationalizing a community and absorbing it into the proselytizing church, it will prove a failure in the long run. In the case of the United or Catholic Armenians, one sees another instance of the tendency of all the subject races of the Porte whenever a question of religion or political liberty is raised; it is to the West that one and all look for the settlement of these questions, for support, and for protection. European interference has been systematically imposed upon the Porte, and has obtained ascendancy over it in proportion as the Turk has become weak and incapable of resistance.

The Armenian nation seems to have remained united and at peace with the Church of its adoption until the year 1587, when Pope Sixtus sent the Bishop of Sidon as ambassador to the Armenian Melkhites, Jacobites, and Chaldean communities, to recover them from their heresy and establish papal authority over them; but the utmost the legate obtained at the time was the consent of the Armenian Patriarch of Cilicia to sign a confession of the Catholic faith according to the statutes of the Council of Florence. In the meanwhile numerous missionaries belonging to the order of the Jesuits and others had settled in the country with the object of carrying on the work of conversion. It was one of these, a Jesuit, who, a century later, converted Mechitar, the illustrious founder of the United Armenian community, which now numbers over 40,000 souls. Mechitar united in his person the qualities of the theologian, the scholar, and the patriot. Yielding to persuasion, he adopted the Catholic creed and directed all his energies to propagating it among his countrymen. His ideas were, however, those of an enlightened man who wished to combine conversion with mental development and liberal ideas based upon the sound foundation of separating the civil from the religious rights, founding a Church, Catholic in faith, but Armenian in nationality, with a constitution free from the direct control and interference of the See of Rome. It is impossible to say how far the project of the intrepid convert was feasible; his enterprise met with very decided opposition from the head of the propaganda, whose efforts were directed with fanatical tenacity and ardor towards denationalizing and Latinizing the new converts. Thus the community in its very origin found itself divided into two branches—the liberal, professing the views of Mechitar, proud of the name of Armenian, and desirous of promoting the interests of their fatherland; and the Ultramontanes, bigoted and holding Rome as the sole pivot on which their social, moral, and religious existence turned. These divisions soon caused dissensions, and Mechitar, finding the opposition of the Fathers too strong for him in his native land, left it and went to Constantinople, where he hoped to find more liberty and a more extended field for action. Here, also, bitter disappointment awaited him, for he found the pressure of the European Fathers put upon the new Church; mild persuasion and exhortation were set aside and an earnest policy of intolerance and exclusiveness was preached to the new community, forbidding its members to enter the churches of their fathers, which were represented as “sanctuaries of the devil,” holding its liturgy up to execration, and refusing absolution to those unwilling to submit to these severe doctrines. This system of intolerance succeeded so well with the retrograde party as to widen the breach already separating it from the liberal, and sowed at the same time the seeds of that mortal hatred between the United and the Gregorian Armenians that has more than once well-nigh caused their common destruction. At this stage, while party dissensions rendered union among the Armenian Catholics impossible, the work of proselytism marched on, until the Gregorians, alarmed at its rapid progress, rose in a body, and by means of hypocrisy and intrigue, headed by their uncompromising patriarch Ephraim, obtained a firman from the Porte ordering the banishment of all the Armenian Catholics from Constantinople. Thus the sparks of persecution kindled by this patriarch soon spread into a general conflagration under his successor Avidic, who, gaining the ear and support of the Grand Mufti Feizallah, obtained decree after decree for the persecution, confiscation, and expatriation of all their opponents in the empire, including the Fathers. The blow was too strong, and the sensation it created too great, for it to be passed over by the Western powers belonging to the same Church. A French ambassador consequently raised his voice so loudly and effectively at the Porte as to have the obnoxious patriarch expelled and exiled to Chios; the ill-fated dignitary, however, was not allowed to expiate his evil-doing in peace and solitude, but, waylaid, it is believed, by some equally unchristian Jesuit Fathers, he was kidnapped and taken to the Isle of St. Margaret, where he died the death of a martyr.

The Porte, in its desire to right the wronged, felt ill-requited by this act. The abduction of the Patriarch, together with other grievances, magnified by the Gregorians, increased its discontent, and, casting its mask of reconciliation aside, it became the open and direct persecutor of the suspected community. The Jesuits’ house at Galata was put under surveillance, the Armenian printing establishment was closed, and proselytism was forbidden on pain of exile. A Hatti ordered the arrest of all the Armenian adherents of the Romish Church. What remained of the community continued in hiding, awaiting a favorable time for its reappearance. Mechitar himself, suspected, distrusted, and disliked by all parties save his own, fled from Constantinople, and, after many vicissitudes and an unsuccessful attempt to found a monastery at Medon, finally succeeded in doing so in the Isle of St. Lazarus, granted to him by the republic of Venice. The monastery he there founded was of the order of St. Benedict, and was later on approved of by a bull of Clement XI. In this quiet refuge the learned monk established his order, which took the name of Mechitarists after him, and has become the college, not of orthodox catholicism, as understood and practised by the Latinized converts, but of learning, patriotism, and liberal views and ideas in religious matters. Scarcely had the United Armenians recovered from the shock of this persecution than they were again, in 1759, subjected to a fresh one set on foot as before by the Gregorians, who forced upon them religious forms repulsive to them, backed by the active support of the Porte. But the most critical moment for the very existence of the community, including a considerable proportion of Franks, was the time of the battle of Navarino. All the ill-humor and exasperation of the Turks fell upon the unfortunate Armenian Catholics, who, represented to the credulous Turks as traitors and spies of the Franks, were treated accordingly, and persecution and exile, ruin and death, were once more their lot. The principal actors in this last were an obscure sheikh who had a tekké at Stamboul, and who by some freak of fortune had risen to the rank of Kadi Asker, becoming far famed as Khalet Effendi, and an individual who was pipe-bearer in the Duz-Oglou family, one of the wealthiest of the United Armenian families.

The Porte declared that it recognized only one Armenian nation and one Armenian religion, and invited all schismatics to abjure their apostasy and return to the bosom of their own church and nation, on which conditions they could alone be pardoned. This was the climax of the evils and sufferings of the United Armenians. The Governments of Western Europe, indignant at this rigorous treatment and the miseries it brought upon an unfortunate community, took up its cause, and after a prolonged dispute between the French Government and the Porte, the determined conduct of the representative of the former power triumphed over the intrigues of the Gregorian Armenians and the ill-will and cruelty of the Porte; the exiles were recalled, their property restored, and they were recognized as a separate community under a patriarch of their own. We need not follow all the difficulties and complications that had to be overcome before these salutary results could be obtained. Since that epoch this community was formed into a separate body, and owing its welfare, security, and subsequent prosperity to the protection of France has enjoyed in peace the same rights and privileges as the Gregorians. These privileges were further granted by the Porte under the same pressure to the other Catholic communities. The grant of these concessions constituted France the moral supporter and religious protector of all the Catholics of the East, and for some years French influence in favor of the Catholic rayahs was supreme at the Porte.

In 1831 the community began once more to consolidate itself by the scattered members returning to their homes and re-assuming the ordinary business of life. Much had been done in their favor, but much remained to be done by the community itself. The first step was to frame a general assembly, composed of representatives of the various classes of the community by whom the national interests were discussed and debated upon with much freedom. The result was the election of a president who was confirmed by the Porte, and invested with temporal authority alone. The spiritual power was conferred on a primate appointed by the Pope. This measure was adopted in the hope of preventing one authority from encroaching upon the other; the patriarch’s seal was divided into three parts, which were intrusted respectively to the patriarch, the primate, and the president of the council. Other measures were also adopted which established the interests and influence of the Church on a solid basis, increased the privileges of the community at large, and greatly heightened its prestige. But dissensions and jealousies crept in, destroyed the passing dignity of the Church, and brought it to the low level of its adherents, making it a centre of bigotry and intolerance on one side and of struggling efforts for enlightenment and emancipation on the other.

Mechitar’s views and principles are held in increasing veneration by the liberal and progressive Armenians, who believe that the future prosperity of their country is dependent on them. Imbued with these ideas, it is not astonishing to find that this party and that of the Propaganda and Latinized Armenians are in a state of continual contention, undermining the peace and prospects of the community.

In 1846, Father Minassian, a Mechitarist monk, proposed the establishment of a society for the reconciliation of the two divisions of the nation with the view of the furthering education and ultimate political emancipation of the Armenians. The Conservative party, with the patriarch at its head, rejected his plan, which, warmly taken up by the Liberal (or as it is now called Anti-Hassounist) party led to fresh disputes and dissensions, keeping this community for years in a continual state of religious agitation and setting families at variance. The Anti-Hassounist party comprises some of the most wealthy and influential families, while the Hassounists, on the other hand, boast of the influence of their patriarch, the approval and protection of Rome, and the assistance and co-operation of the Propaganda; accordingly, of late years, both parties have sallied forth from their former reserved attitude and offered to the world of Constantinople the spectacle of a pitched battle—one side armed with all the power that spiritual help can afford, the other bracing itself with the force of argument and the protection and favor of the Porte.

Hassoun and his party accepted the doctrine of the Infallibility of the Pope, and committed their spiritual welfare and worldly concerns into the keeping of the mother Church, trusting to her maternal care for unlimited patronage. The Anti-Hassounists, led by Kupelian, rebelled against this despotic arrangement, denied the Infallibility and the right of the Church of Rome to interfere in the social and religious organization of the community; they actually went so far as to break out into open rebellion, and, supported and protected by Hossein Aoni Pasha and some of his colleagues, denied the authority of the patriarch, drove his adherents out of the schools, closed the churches, and sent away the priests under his control, finally effecting the schism which lies under Papal excommunication, but prospers nevertheless, and must ultimately, as the nation advances, triumph over opposition and attain equality, independent of the powerful and absorbing influence of the Church of Rome.

The spiritual authority of this new sect is in the keeping of a patriarch whose election by the community is confirmed by the Porte. He enjoys the same rights and privileges as the patriarchs of the other communities. The patriarch of the United Armenians receives a stipend of 5000 piastres per month, exclusive of the salaries of the officers of his chancery. The expenses of the bairat, amounting to 500 piastres, are defrayed by the community and furnished by a proportionate tax levied by the National Council. The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy consists of the Patriarchs of Cilicia, the Primate of Constantinople, the bishops, and the monastic and secular clergy. The principal see is solely supported by funds provided by the Propaganda of Rome and the “œuvres des missions.”

The priests are divided into Vartabieds, or doctors, and derders, or ordinary priests. Some of the former may be found at the head of small churches, aided by derders or acolytes. They occupy a modest position in rich families, where they are employed as religious instructors of youth and general counsellors of the family. As a class, however, their voice in the Church is overruled by that of the clergy of the Propaganda. The Vartabieds carry a crosier; no regular stipend is allotted to them, but they derive their support from church fees. The regular clergy consists of Mechitarist and Antonine monks, who have colleges at Venice, Constantinople, and Mount Lebanon.

The national council of the United Armenians is composed of twelve lay members called Bairatlis; their election is confirmed by the Porte. They are unpaid, and their period of office is limited to two years, six retiring and six resuming office annually. This council works in conjunction with the Patriarch; it regulates all matters concerning the civil and financial affairs of the community; it is the arbitrator and judge of all disputes among the United Armenians. This community at Constantinople alone numbers about 20,000 souls, forming seven parishes in different parts of the city.

In Pera, annexed to the church of St. John Chrysostom, they possess an infirmary for the poor and a lunatic asylum; each parish has a primary school, and some institutes for female education exists. One of these, founded in 1850 by the family of Duz-Oglou, is conducted by a French lady and placed under French control; the instruction afforded is in the French and Armenian languages.

The unfortunate duality ever present in the Church makes itself felt in the educational department as well, and greatly impedes its progress. The Mechitarist Fathers of St. Lazarus include in the religious and literary instruction given in their schools the records of past Armenian glory, inculcate a love of country, teach its language, and render its illustrious authors familiar to the rising generation; the current language in their institution is the Armenian. The opposition abuse and ridicule all that is Armenian, and replace the native language by Latin and Italian, or French; their principle is, “Let nationality perish rather than doctrine, the holy pulpit was never established to teach patriotism, but gospel truth.” The tutelar saints of the Armenians, treated with the same disrespect, are replaced by saints from the Roman calendar.

In character and disposition the United Armenians are peaceable, regular in their habits, industrious, and fond of amassing wealth; parsimonious and even miserly in their ideas, the love of ostentation and good-feeding has yet a powerful effect upon their purse-strings. They are, however, considerably in advance of the Gregorian Armenians. The youth of the better classes are for the most part conversant with European languages and the external forms of good society, affect European manners, and profess liberal views. Owing to the higher educational privileges they enjoy, they have made more progress in the arts and professions than the Gregorian Armenians. The school of Mechitar has produced scholars of considerable merit, but the vocation they seem specially made for is that of banking. In all careers their success has been signal. There was a time when the increasing wealth and prosperity of the United Armenians was the cause of much envy and jealousy, when no European banking houses existed in Turkey, and the financial affairs of the Ottomans were left entirely in the hands of the Armenian bankers, who directed the mint and regulated the finances of the government and of the Pashas. On the change of system, the ruin of the State as well as that of most of these families, once so wealthy, became inevitable. Should Armenia, however, eventually become a principality, should the Mechitarist school triumph over sectarian susceptibilities, and an understanding be arrived at leading to a national union between the United and the Gregorian Armenians, a considerable number of wealthy, intelligent, and earnest men, fit to be placed at the head of a nation, and able to control it with wisdom, prudence, and moderation, will not be wanting in both branches of this widely scattered nation. The critical moment in the destinies of this country has, I believe, arrived. The Armenians, detesting the Ottoman rule, are ready to cast themselves into the arms of any power that will offer them protection and guarantee their future emancipation. The turning-point reached, Russia or England will have to face them and listen to their claims. If their cause is taken up in good time they will be saved; and the name and prestige of England, already pretty widely spread in Armenia, will become all-powerful.

THE END.