Certainly these Christian musicians gave us only Turkish music and songs: love songs, military airs, the Moslem ‘Hymn of Independence’ (known to every child in the land), Anatolian folk-songs, and, most interesting and incomprehensible of all, the weird, piping solo that accompanies the dancing dervishes, a combination of sacred mystery, sentiment and melancholy.
Unfortunately, no European can expect to enter fully into Turkish music without a good deal of study.
And yet, deeply as I feel the charm of Eastern landscapes, the glorious sunsets or brilliant sunshine revealing white minarets against the black cypress, I still hold dearer memories of the old talks with my Turkish sister, beside the roseate mangal, as she revealed to me the fascinating mysteries of the life of the sons and daughters of her land.
It is the same to-day in the more strenuous and, in some respects, more Western atmosphere of the proud National Assembly. Even if I have done but little to convey the admiration their splendid resistance demands, which I so strongly feel, the effort to understand has brought me the greatest pleasure. And whether or not I have earned, or merited, the joy, none can take it from me.
CHAPTER XXVII
ROME, THE ETERNAL CITY—A VISIT TO THE CATHOLICS IN ANGORA
There is so often compensation for disappointment. Had I been able to reach Angora through Constantinople, had I not been held up six weeks by strikes on sea, I should have missed the chance of another visit to Rome—above all, of having an audience with Pope Pius XI.
His Holiness could not know, for I did not myself then imagine, the precious gift he thus entrusted to me for his children in Anatolia. He certainly would not feel the time wasted, could I convey to him the heartfelt joy and reverence with which they listened for my answers to their eager questions. “What is he like, our Holy Father? Is it true that he always prays for us?”