She and her husband, Dr. Adnan Bey, now Angora High Commissioner in Constantinople, would have been imprisoned with the other Nationalists three years ago had they not managed to escape to these mountains. Clad in the picturesque costumes of the villagers, with clogs on their feet, and a few possessions crowded into a bullock-wagon, they made their way slowly into Angora, dependent for food and shelter upon the picturesque, but uncomfortable, little inns on the way.
Since the victory of the Nationalists, she is free, of course, to seek her equally picturesque home in the heart of Stamboul; but, “How I love my Angora farmstead!” she cried, as her quaint peasant waiting-woman brought in coffee and cigarettes. There was proof, at least, in the countless books, papers and souvenirs from England around us that she has not forgotten her education in the American College; and, whatever her judgment of us to-day, she speaks our language without a fault.
As the eye travels over the delicately-cut features of Halidé Hanoum, the expression of sensitiveness stands out as the greatest charm of her beauty. Yet the quiet reserved manner cannot hide the force of her mind and her compelling personality. Charm, intelligence, great talent and courage, are all in her dower. What is it one admires the most? For me, certainly, the all-conquering gift of the truly brave.
As my father used to say of General Gordon: “In the service of God and humanity, he was the bravest of men; and in his sorest need or his greatest loneliness, his courage rose all the time. To have known Gordon is to say with certainty, ‘God is courage!’”
This fragile and thoroughly feminine little lady was first in the field against Abdul Hamid, one of the first to understand Angora, to leave all for the Pasha, to work without ceasing for Nationalism and the new Turkey. She tells me that a true account of the Greek atrocities, as she saw them, will be an important feature of her memoirs, though I shall be, personally, more eager to read the story of her own courageous achievements.
There is only one of her judgments upon things as they are which I regret, and believe to be mistaken. Trained in an American college, and honoured as she is all over the States, it is but natural that she should blame England for leading America astray on the subject of Christian minorities. Here neither nation assuredly can plead not guilty; but the exaggeration and the fervour of the false appeal have come, I honestly believe, from across the Atlantic, and not to them from us.
Halidé’s first literary achievement, for which she was decorated by the Sultan, was to translate “The Mother in the Home,” by an American pedagogue of the sixties; just the kind of book one would expect an intelligent young girl to choose!
I first met Halidé Hanoum just after she had succeeded in ending her first marriage. The union was not a happy one—she was then only seventeen—but it brought her two fine sons, who are naturally very proud of their mother. Education and training among American-taught students had made it impossible for her to lead the old harem existence, but she was able to give herself up to deep study, absorbing from her husband’s extensive library the many original ideas she is now giving to the world. My friends have told me, and I can well believe, how much one loses of beauty in her exquisite style of writing from ignorance of the language. One envies her the rare combination of a first-class Eastern and Western culture.
During the reign of Abdul Hamid she was condemned to death, and her “Memoirs” will, one day, reveal to us the terrible suffering of those years. Now, however, the pendulum has swung back, and she is reaping the reward of her courageous work for young Turkey by the high esteem and consideration she universally receives. She was frequently consulted by the late Talaat Pasha and the late Djémal Pasha, owing to her exceptional knowledge of Western institutions. It was at her house, too, I met the able and charming editor of the Tanine, Hussein Djahid, afterwards with us at Lausanne. All Turkey’s great men have visited her, and visit her still; and, without doubt, much of the destiny of her country has come to birth, if not maturity, in her home.
Under the shadow of renewed war, this citizen in the Great Republic of Letters could not refrain from the sad topics of Greek atrocities and Lausanne, but soon turned our talk to more congenial thoughts.