I had visions of our coming Sunday lunch; but, alas! it was bitterly cold (in spite of rugs and shawls) on these lovely and picturesque roads, white with frost; and when we had waited a whole afternoon for the shooters to shoot, someone at last bagged a magpie.
Passing a flock of geese, by which the old woman of a tiny roadside farm was standing sentinel, I asked one of the party to hand me a gun with which to shoot one of the geese by mistake. I remembered in time, however, that the only time I had ever aimed at a rabbit, I killed a fox; and I was afraid that by aiming at the goose I should probably shoot the lady.
So they toiled on for another hour with no better result, and we began to hesitate about facing the colonel and the director of the Ottoman Bank, where we had all been invited to Sunday lunch. But on the way back we were lucky enough to buy a fine, plump hare from two peasant women we passed on the road; and the colonel was boldly informed that it had fallen to Osman Noury. “Madame Noury must cook him,” cried the colonel, with a laugh that struck one as rather suspicious. The colonel supplied champagne; Mme. Noury superintended the hare and the pilaw; Boghetti brought some fruit; Oeillet was responsible for the cigarettes.
When behold, to the manifest discomfort of Osman Noury, the colonel began asking awkward questions about the “where’s and when’s.” “Be careful,” I said, “the colonel is going to wire to his Government about it.” When the laughter subsided, Osman Noury blushingly explained that it had cost him two Turkish pounds! I am sure neither the fact nor the confession diminished our enjoyment of the merry feast.
I have been very ill to-day, on the point of slipping out of this world altogether. Not realising the danger of close proximity to a mangal, I carried the precious warmth into my bedroom, to feast on its exquisite purple flames, which I just remember comparing to a sunset. Fortunately, my faithful maid was in the room when I lost consciousness, and I was carried out of the poisonous air.
The colonel told me afterwards that before they knew whether I should recover, he was possessed of a horrible panic that he could never persuade his Government I had died by accident.... Everyone will say “the Turks poisoned you and the Frenchman let them do it.” Well, I am still here, and the papers have lost an excellent opportunity for lying copy. M. Louis Steeg declares: “You surely will never die!”
The Pasha has graciously lent me his car for a visit to Halidé Hanoum. It is a pretty little machine, lined with blue velvet, which hops and bumps and plunges along the roads like a kangaroo, swimming across the river for more miles of twisting acrobatics. I have always admired the carriage-drivers: before (or rather behind) M. Kemal’s chauffeur I am dumb. But, apparently, the cars “don’t mind”!
I was imprudent enough to dismiss my conductor at the nearest point to my host’s house, which even he could not reach, and walked on to find the servants had all disappeared, no doubt to the Mosque, and the family were not at home! Being in Turkey I did not hesitate to step down the road and knock at the first door I came to, which was of plain deal, with the usual huge lock (quite a foot long) and picturesque knocker. A thin-faced woman appeared to welcome me, and, without thinking, I fell back on my stock greeting: “Mustapha Kemal Pasha, Chok Guzel!” Accepting my muddy boots without demur, she smilingly led me into her little two-roomed cabin: on one side, the sleeping-room with its bed and well-cushioned divan; on the other, her simple kitchen. When she had tucked me up on the Divan, and given me coffee and cigarettes, I did my best at conversation, and by friendly signs tried to convey my gratitude. “England is a big country ... M. Kemal’s victory splendid ... cold weather outside,” my eyes and hands said.
If she did not exactly understand what was in my mind, she was polite enough to seem thoroughly interested. I sat on till I could hear the servants arriving at my host’s house, and with another supply of coffee, she smiled me farewell, without the slightest appearance of having resented my lengthy intrusion. They are hospitable in Anatolia!