An equally beautiful feature in the character of the Turks is their reverence and respect for the author of their being. Their wives advise and reprimand unheeded—their words are bosh—nothing—but the mother is an oracle; she is consulted, confided in, listened to with respect and deference, honoured to her latest hour, and remembered with affection and regret beyond the grave. “My wives die, and I can replace them,” says the Osmanli; “my children perish, and others may be born to me; but who shall restore to me the mother who has passed away, and who is seen no more?”
These are strong traits, beautiful developments, of human nature; and, if such be indeed the social attributes of “barbarism,” then may civilized Europe, amid her pride of science and her superiority of knowledge, confess that herein at least she is mated by the less highly-gifted Musselmauns.
The philosophy and kindly feeling of the Turk is carried even beyond the grave. He looks upon death calmly and without repugnance; he does not connect it with ideas of gloom and horror, as we are too prone to do in Europe—he spreads his burial places in the sunniest spots—on the crests of the laughing hills, where they are bathed in the light of the blue sky; beside the crowded thoroughfares of the city, where the dead are, as it were, once more mingled with the living—in the green nooks that stretch down to the Bosphorus, wherein more selfish spirits would have erected a villa, or have planted a vineyard. He identifies himself with the generation which has passed away—he is ready to yield his place to that which is to succeed his own.
Nor must I omit to remark on the devout and unaffected religious feeling that exists in Turkey, not only among the Musselmauns, who, however imperative may be their avocations, never neglect to pray five times during the day; but equally among the Greeks and Armenians, whose fasts are so severe that those of the Roman Catholics are comparatively feasts. If you meet a Turk and inquire after his health, he replies—“Shukiur Allah!—Praise be to God, I am well.” Every thing is referred to the Great First Cause. There is none of that haughty self-dependence, that overweening morgue, so strongly marked in Europeans. Among men, the Osmanli considers himself the first, but only among men; when he puts off his slippers at the door of the mosque, he carries no pomp with him into the presence of his God. The luxurious inhabitant of the East, who, in his own salemliek is wont to recline on cushions, and to be served by officious slaves, does not pass into the house of God to tenant a crimson-lined and well-wadded pew, and to listen to the words of inspiration beside a comfortable stove, in dreamy indifference: he takes his place among the crowd—the Effendi stands beside the water-carrier—the Bey near the charcoal-vender—he is but one item among many—he arrogates to himself no honour in the temple where all men are as one common family; and he insults not the Divine Majesty by a bended knee and a stubborn brow.
That the generality of the Turks hold every Frank in supreme contempt, admits of no doubt; and could they, to use their own phrase, “make our fathers and mothers eat dirt,” I am afraid that our respectable ancestors would never again enjoy a comfortable meal; but this feeling on their part is rather amusing than offensive, and only enhances the merit of their politeness when they show courtesy to the stranger and the Giaour.
If, as we are all prone to believe, freedom be happiness, then are the Turkish women the happiest, for they are certainly the freest individuals in the Empire. It is the fashion in Europe to pity the women of the East; but it is ignorance of their real position alone which can engender so misplaced an exhibition of sentiment. I have already stated that they are permitted to expostulate, to urge, even to insist on any point wherein they may feel an interest; nor does an Osmanli husband ever resent the expressions of his wife; it is, on the contrary, part and parcel of his philosophy to bear the storm of words unmoved; and the most emphatic and passionate oration of the inmates of his harem seldom produces more than the trite “Bakalum—we shall see.”
It is also a fact that though a Turk has an undoubted right to enter the apartments of his wives at all hours, it is a privilege of which he very rarely, I may almost say, never avails himself. One room in the harem is appropriated to the master of the house, and therein he awaits the appearance of the individual with whom he wishes to converse, and who is summoned to his presence by a slave. Should he, on passing to his apartment, see slippers at the foot of the stairs, he cannot, under any pretence, intrude himself in the harem: it is a liberty that every woman in the Empire would resent. When guests are on a visit of some days, he sends a slave forward to announce his approach, and thus gives them time and opportunity to withdraw.
A Turkish woman consults no pleasure save her own when she wishes to walk or drive, or even to pass a short time with a friend: she adjusts her yashmac and feridjhe, summons her slave, who prepares her boksha, or bundle, neatly arranged in a muslin handkerchief; and, on the entrance of the husband, his inquiries are answered by the intelligence that the Hanoum[2] Effendi is gone to spend a week at the harem of so and so. Should he be suspicious of the fact, he takes steps to ascertain that she is really there; but the idea of controlling her in the fancy, or of making it subject of reproach on her return, is perfectly out of the question.
The instances are rare in which a Turk, save among the higher ranks, becomes the husband of two wives. He usually marries a woman of his own rank; after which, should he, either from whim, or for family reasons, resolve on increasing his establishment, he purchases slaves from Circassia and Georgia, who are termed Odaliques; and who, however they may succeed in superseding the Buyuk Hanoum, or head of the harem, in his affections, are, nevertheless, subordinate persons in the household; bound to obey her bidding, to pay her the greatest respect, and to look up to her as a superior. Thus a Turkish lady constantly prefers the introduction of half a dozen Odaliques into her harem to that of a second wife; as it precludes the possibility of any inconvenient assumption of power on the part of her companions, who must, under all circumstances, continue subservient to her authority.
The almost total absence of education among Turkish women, and the consequently limited range of their ideas, is another cause of that quiet, careless, indolent happiness that they enjoy; their sensibilities have never been awakened, and their feelings and habits are comparatively unexacting: they have no factitious wants, growing out of excessive mental refinement; and they do not, therefore, torment themselves with the myriad anxieties, and doubts, and chimeras, which would darken and depress the spirit of more highly-gifted females. Give her shawls, and diamonds, a spacious mansion in Stamboul, and a sunny palace on the Bosphorus, and a Turkish wife is the very type of happiness; amused with trifles, careless of all save the passing hour; a woman in person, but a child at heart.