So much interesting literature has been produced by the Nationalist movement, that one must hope Professor E. G. Browne may, one day, pursue his splendid defence of Turkey by giving us extensive extracts from these writers in English. The greatest of all our living scholars in Turkish, Persian, and Arabic, he has devoted his whole life to the fascinating subject; and Prince Samad Khan has told me that he lectures in Persian without the trace of an accent.
Graciously writing a Preface to my “Englishwoman in a Turkish Harem,” he said that as “a friend and admirer of the Turks, as well as a student of their language and literature, it is always a satisfaction to me to find a fresh opportunity of testifying to my belief in the virtues of this much-maligned and ill-used race.”
Recent events, however, seem to have paralysed his enthusiasm, bringing depression that killed his zeal for the task he now felt it would be of no avail to pursue.
The Nationalist victory, let us hope, will encourage him to resume work with a revived, and ever greater, enthusiasm. I had intended, indeed, to ask him for a summary of the “Nationalist Literary Revival,” by way of a chapter in this book. But there was not time to presume so far on the kindness he has never refused to show.
I have, therefore, reproduced, to the best of my ability, a few notes put together for me by that distinguished Professor, Hussein Raghib Bey, formerly Director of the Angora Press, and now Charge d’Affaires at the Paris Embassy. He is an exceptionally well-informed critic in the education, literature and politics of his own country, which travel also enables him to compare with the educational systems of Europe. He told me that, while he admired the thoroughness of German methods, he could not tolerate their unjust administration of corporal punishment, which, in his judgment, vitiated the whole system. Turkish schools have all adopted French methods; and, myself a proud pupil of the École Normale Supérieure de Sèvres, I do not believe there is any finer instruction in the world. But in the fullest sense of real and complete education, the best work is being done in England. The ideal would seem to be a combination of the two.
Hussein Raghib took me right back to the “Divans,” a collection, or portfolio, of more or less national poems, celebrating the virtues of God and the Prophet. Love-poetry does not begin before Fouzouli, in the reign of Suliman the Magnificent. Any ghazals (i.e., love songs) that I have heard sung here do not seem to express our conception of love. The music sounds more tender and mournful than passionate, and the song itself is often addressed to the Unknown, to Love in the Abstract, and not to the individual Beloved. Again and again I caught the word “pity,” suggesting ideas and moods we should not expect to find.
After the “Divans,” we notice the strong influence of Persian literature in Turkey, even the introduction of Persian words—a consequence, no doubt, of wars in Persia and Arabia. Moreover, the Koran was then a predominating influence in all literature, as well as in science; and Arabic was the language of religion.
It was Selim, to whom the King of Egypt handed over the Holy Relics—the standard, the coat, and the wooden sculptured shoes—with the solemn injunction, “They are yours—to hold; for you are qualified to be Khalife.” From that day and for ever, any Khalife who shall desert his guardianship of the Relics is, by that sin, self-deposed. And Great Britain, the largest Moslem Power in the whole world, revealed her ignorance, or her indifference, by calling Wahid-Eddin, “The Khalife,” long after his escape to Malta!