| PAGE | ||
| Girl of the Harem | [Frontispiece.] | |
| Turkish Lady | [11] | |
| Lemonade-seller | [19] | |
| An Outing of the Women of the Harem | [21] | |
| Dancing Girls | [45] | |
| Turkish Firemen | [79] | |
| Water-seller | [85] | |
| Aqueduct of Valens | [96] | |
| Mosque of the Chora | [110] | |
| Dervish | [120] | |
| Interior View of the Seven Towers | [127] | |
| View of Interior of the Seven Towers | [133] | |
| Panorama of the Seraglio | [147] | |
| A Turkish Woman | [184] | |
| Gateway of the Imperial Palace at the Sweet Waters of Asia | [194] | |
| Panorama of Mosque of Bayezid | [218] | |
| Ancient Fountain at Skutari | [223] | |
| Cemetery of Eyûb and View of the Golden Horn | [229] | |
| Türbeh of the Mosque Shazadeh | [235] | |
| Tombs of Mahmûd II. and of his Son Abdul-Aziz | [237] | |
| Coffee-makers | [245] | |
| Bosphorus: View of Shores of Asia and Europe | [271] | |
| Mosque of Validêh at Ok Serai | [275] | |
| Sweet Waters of Europe | [280] | |
| Entrance to the Black Sea | [293] | |
TURKISH WOMEN.
On arriving in Constantinople for the first time, one is much surprised, after all he has heard of the thraldom of the Turkish women, to see them, everywhere and at all hours of the day, coming and going with apparently the same freedom as the women of any other city in Europe. It seems as though all these imprisoned swallows must that very day have been given their liberty, and a new era of freedom and independence dawned for the fair sex among the Mussulmans. At first the impression is very odd: one is in doubt whether all these females enveloped in white veils and long, variously-colored mantles are nuns or masqueraders or lunatics; and, as you never by any chance see one of them accompanied by a man, they seem not to belong to any one, being all, apparently, young girls or widows or inmates of some huge asylum for the “unhappily married.” It is some time before you can realize that all these Turkish men and women, who meet and jostle one another in the streets without ever walking along together or interchanging so much as a nod or look, can have anything in common, and you constantly find yourself stopping to watch them and reflect upon this singular custom. And these strange figures, you say to yourself—these actually are those “subduers of hearts,” “fountains of peace,” “little rose-leaves,” “early grapes,” “morning rays,” “life-givers”, “sunrises”, and “shining moons” about whom thousands of poets have written and sung? These are the “hanums” and mysterious slaves, reading of whom in Victor Hugo’s ballads at the age of twenty, in a shady garden, we imagined to be like beings of another world? These the unfortunate beauties, hidden behind gratings, watched over by eunuchs, separated from the world, who, passing like shadows across the face of the earth, emit one cry of pleasure and one of sorrow? Let us see how much truth lies at the bottom of all this poetry.
* * * * *
First of all, then, the face of the Turkish woman is no longer a mystery, and owing to this fact alone much of the poetry that surrounded her has disappeared. That jealous veil which, according to the Koran, was to be at once the “seal of her virtue and a safeguard against the world,” has become a mere form. Every one knows how the yashmac is arranged. There are two large white veils—one, bound around the head like a bandage, covers the forehead down to the eyebrows, is knotted just above the nape of the neck, and falls over the back in two long ends reaching to the waist; the other covers all the lower part of the face and is carried back and tied in with the first in such a manner as to give the effect of a single veil. These veils, however, which are supposed to be of muslin and adjusted so as to leave nothing visible but the eyes and the upper part of the cheeks, have worn away to something very thin and flimsy indeed, while they have drawn farther and farther apart, until now not only most of the face, but the ears, neck, and hair, and not infrequently a European hat and feathers worn by “reformed ladies,” are plainly visible. Hence the reverse of the former order of things has come about. Then it was the older women who were allowed to appear with their faces somewhat less closely covered, while the young ones were obliged to conceal them rigorously. Now the young ones, especially if they be handsome, show as much of their features as possible, while the older women, in order to deceive people, wear their veils thick and closely drawn. And so an infinite number of charming and romantic incidents told by poets and writers of fiction are no longer possible, and among other fables is that of the husband seeing his bride’s face for the first time on the night of his marriage. Beyond the face, however, all is still concealed, and not so much as a passing glimpse can be had of waist or bosom or arm: the ferege hides everything. This is a sort of tunic furnished with a cape and very long sleeves, full and shapeless, and falling like a cloak from the shoulders to the feet. In winter it is made of cloth, in summer of silk, all of one color, and that usually brilliant—now bright red, now orange, now green; but, whatever may be the change in color from year to year, the cut is never altered. Notwithstanding the fact that the women are enveloped in this manner, so great is the art with which they can adjust the yashmac that the pretty ones pass for beauties, and those who are ugly look pleasing. It is difficult to say just what it is they do with those two veils. How artfully they dispose of their ample folds, drawing them back and allowing them to fall in simple classic lines or arranging them like coronets or turbans! With what subtle grace they employ them to at once display and conceal their charms, offering a tantalizing suggestion, a promise, a check, and revealing unlooked-for marvels! Some of them seem to wear about their heads a white diaphanous cloud, which at a breath would melt away, others to be garlanded with lilies and jasmines: all of them apparently have the whitest skin, and seem to borrow from those veils a shining reflection and an appearance of delicacy and freshness quite captivating to behold. It is a headgear at once austere and festive, with something of a sacerdotal or nun-like character. Beneath it, one would think, nothing but kind thoughts and innocent, child-like fancies could have birth. But it appears that a little of everything is born there.
Turkish Lady.